


In The Beginning

by emn1936



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-10 15:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13504080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emn1936/pseuds/emn1936
Summary: "The Season will begin in two months. Go to London. Find an heiress. A pretty girl whom you will not mind seeing across the dining room table night after night. After all, as your mother would say, ‘marriage is a long business’ so if you cannot be with the woman you love, then find a woman you will not mind being with."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time there was talk by Julian Fellowes of creating a prequel to Downton Abbey which would feature a young Robert and Cora - and, presumably, their courtship and the early years of their marriage. It would seem unlikely that prequel will ever come to fruition. I know there are a number of rumors circulating of a sequel in movie form, but the concept of how it all began has always intrigued me and to satisfy myself I started to write it down. Show canon holds that Robert was not in love with Cora when they wed. This is my take on how that prequel might have started.

Chapter One

 

Downton Abbey  
1888

 

With no guests or pressing business to attend to, the Crawleys enjoyed a quiet family dinner at home. 

"Please tell Cook that dinner was excellent as always." Violet Crawley looked toward the butler who was standing sentinel near the sideboard and delicately touched a napkin to the corner of her mouth. "Shall we go through?" 

A young footman sprang forward to pull back her chair and she rose with an expectant look at her husband and children.

"You and Rosamund should go through now, my dear." Patrick Crawley, the Sixth Earl of Grantham and his son dutifully stood as the ladies rose from the table. "I have a few matters to discuss with Robert, first." 

"Ohhh, whatever did you do, brother?" Rosamund’s eyes widened dramatically as she rounded the table to playfully drop a kiss atop her father’s balding head after he dropped back into his chair. "Do not be too harsh with him, Papa. No matter how naughty he may have been."

"Go along now, Little Miss," the Earl smirked at his daughter and gave her smooth cheek a tender pat. "Do not be stirring up trouble."

"‘Trouble’ is her middle name," Robert groused with a conspiratorial smile aimed at his mother. "Am I not right, Mama?"

"Quite so, my dear." Violet gestured regally toward her wayward daughter. "Come along now, Trouble. Your Papa and brother will join us soon."

The women exited the room and Patrick nodded gratefully as the under butler placed a decanter of brandy and two heavy crystal tumblers onto the table. 

"Thank you, Carson. That will be all."

He gestured to his son to pour them each a drink and rose to retrieve a humidor from behind a cabinet door in the ornate server standing along one wall of the family dining room. Lifting the lid, he offered one to his son before stretching across the table to light his cigar from the flame dancing atop the wick of one of the candles.

"Brandy and cigars," Robert noted as he lit his own. The two men puffed away in silent, mutual pleasure for a few moments. "What is the occasion?" the younger man finally asked.

"You will be twenty-three upon your next birthday," the Earl noted. "I thought it time to discuss expanding your role and responsibilities to the estate."

Robert nodded and grinned around the cigar clamped between his teeth. "You know I am eager to serve in whatever capacity Downton requires of me."

"It pleases me to hear you say that." His father took a sip from his glass, letting the expensive brandy roll over his tongue. "I have been thinking on this for quite a while now," he said, studying the glowing tip of his cigar. "And I believe that it is beyond time you begin to seriously look for a wife."

Robert coughed, choking on a sip of brandy.

"Pardon?" He coughed again, desperately trying to clear his throat. "Marry? Who... that is... What?" 

"You are my heir," his father patiently reminded him. "It is your duty to Downton to marry and produce an heir of your own."

"But... now?" Robert stabbed his cigar out into an ornate crystal bowl near his elbow. "Why now? As you say, I am not yet twenty-three. You were much older than I am now when you and Mama married."

"Times are different," his father said with an arch look. "Come now, boy. You are a fine looking young man and quite popular with the ladies. I have seen them vying for your attention at the balls and house parties we attend. Surely you have given it some consideration."

"Papa." Robert’s fingers tightened around the tumbler. "There is someone I care for very much... but we cannot marry yet."

"Good God, my boy! She’s not still a school girl, is she?" Patrick grinned around the cigar clamped between his teeth. 

"Father," Robert scowled. "Do not be ridiculous."

"There would be no need for ‘ridiculous’ guesses on my part if you would simply tell me the girl’s name," Patrick pointed out in a reasonable tone.

Robert set his jaw stubbornly and stared beyond his father’s shoulder at the ornately patterned silk wall covering as if seeing it for the first time. 

"Robert." Patrick impatiently flicked off the glowing ash from the tip of his cigar. "You are not master of Downton yet." An underlying thread of steel crept into the older man’s voice. "Surely you are not laboring under the delusion that you can present the future countess of Grantham to your mother and me as a fait accompli." 

"No, Father," Robert sighed. "But it is not the time yet. The situation is... complicated."

"What complications?" Patrick demanded irritably. "I assume she comes from a good family; that she is a lady of good birth and breeding?"

Robert nodded, still staring miserably into the distance.

"She is of age and is not promised to another?" 

At this, Robert visibly flinched.

"So, the young lady in question is engaged to another," Patrick probed cautiously, watching as his son kneaded the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

"It is not optimal," the Earl said slowly, "but engagements can be broken."

Visibly distraught, Robert slowly shook his head back and forth. "Father... I – it is not so simple a matter as that." 

"In what way? Has... has the young lady already given herself to her intended?" Patrick’s voice sharpened. "Has she given herself to you?" 

His son’s sudden fascination with the embroidery of the tablecloth was all the answer Patrick needed. He rubbed his hand over his jaw, a familiar sign to his son of his quiet agitation and a heavy silence fell over the room.

"Is she with child?" Patrick quietly asked after a long moment. 

"No."

"Then speak with her of breaking her engagement. There will be some embarrassment, of course, and you will have to wait a decent time before you can take up with one another, but..."

"There is no engagement to break, Father!" Robert exploded and then pressed a closed fist against his mouth as if he could call back the words.

"Then..." His brow furrowed in confusion, Patrick tried to make sense of what his son was – and was not saying. A sudden, awful thought occurred to him and he covered his face with one hand. "She is already married." Though muffled by his fingers, the words were heavy with accusation and disappointment.

"Yes," Robert whispered miserably. "She is married."

"Who is she?"

Robert stubbornly shook his head from side-to-side and refused to meet his father’s sharp gaze.

"Who. Is. She?" 

Robert flinched as his father’s hand crashed against the table, knocking over one crystal glass and spilling a small river of brandy across the embroidered silk cloth. 

"Son, you will look at me," Patrick growled and a small spark of pride stirred beneath the anger as Robert raised a defiant gaze to meet his father’s. "You can tell me yourself, but if you do not, please believe me when I say that I will use every resource at my disposal to discover the lady’s identity."

"I... Father," Robert lifted his own glass and took a bracing gulp of the remaining brandy. "I want you to know that I never sought to... that is we never expected –" He stared at the empty glass, mindlessly watching the rainbow of light playing over the heavily cut crystal as he rolled it back and forth between his hands. "But Kate and I... we could not help –" 

"Kate?" Patrick sharply interrupted his son’s murmured musings. "Kate..." He wracked his brain for a face to match the name and then sat upright in his chair, body all but vibrating with tension.

"Kate," he repeated, eyes locked on his son’s face and the growing look of horror as the younger man realized that he had allowed his love’s name to slip from between his lips. 

"Surely you do not mean the Lady Katherine. Wife of Lord Fitzsimmons."

Miserably, Robert nodded his head in affirmation.

"You have been dallying with the wife of our closest neighbor?" Patrick’s voice was a low growl of incredulity. "What in the name of all that is holy are you thinking, my boy? What is it that you think can come of this affair? You cannot marry her!" 

His voice began to rise and he pressed the tips of his fingers against his mouth lest the entire household become aware.

"She is already married," he finished more quietly, his words devastating in their obviousness.

"To an old man," Robert parried.

"Lord Geoffrey is but ten years my senior," Patrick pointed out with a narrow-eyed look.

"And in poor health as you well know," his son countered. Now that his secret was out, he found his fear abating and he sat taller in his chair, prepared to argue his cause.

"And what, pray, is your plan, Robert?" The Earl pressed his palms together near his mouth and studied his son over the tips of his fingers. "Do you intend simply to await Lord Geoffrey’s death like a ghoul? I do not recall the man ever having wronged you in any way. Indeed, I have always known him to be an exceedingly kind and gracious man."

Robert’s cheeks flushed and he closed his eyes against his father’s censure. 

"Father, it is not like that. I –"

"Lord Fitzsimmons may not be in the best of health, son, but I do not see him going to the Lord any time soon."

"We are willing to wait." 

"And all the while you make of him a cuckold." Patrick plowed on without mercy, ignoring the high flush of embarrassment and indignation on his son’s cheeks. "And what if the Lady Katherine were to become with child?"

"She will not."

"There is only one foolproof method to prevent a child," his father pointed out icily. "And it would seem neither you, nor the lady appear to be inclined toward abstinence."

"It is not for you to worry about, Father."

"But I do worry. I must worry. I cannot allow my son – my heir – to bring shame on the Grantham name because he could not keep his hands off another man’s wife," the Earl bit out. "Or do you think Lord Geoffrey will not notice if his wife is unexpectedly with child? And beyond even that horrifying circumstance, do believe you can buck the entail and make your illegitimate child your heir?" 

"There will be no child," Robert snarled under the weight of the relentless hammering of his father’s words. "Kate cannot – that is she is... She cannot." 

The air whooshed out of Patrick’s lungs and he sagged back against his chair, suddenly feeling a decade older than his fifty-seven years. 

"How do you know?"

"She was ill as a child," Robert said quietly. "More than one doctor has told her that she is... that she cannot... that she will never be a mother."

"And so her father arranged for her to marry an older man, a widower with two grown sons of his own, so that she would be cared for," Patrick concluded. 

"Yes."

"Robert." Tired incredulity replaced the anger in his voice. "Is it truly your intention to bring a woman of no financial means and who cannot give you an heir into this house as your wife?"

"Father... would you have me give up the woman I love?"

"When she belongs to another? Yes. When she cannot provide you and Downton with heirs? Yes."

"I love Katherine! Father, those other things do not mean anything to me!" he cried recklessly. 

"Well, my boy, you better begin to care about those things. You know your duty to this estate. The duty you and I and our forebears have long held to Downton. To this house. To this land. To the staff we employ and the tenants who work the fields and to the village and its people – every one of whom rely on the continuity of this family to keep it going from generation to generation."

"Father, you said it yourself, times are different from when you and Mother wed."

"It is your sacred duty to wed an heiress who can give you a son and whose fortune will help to ensure that the estate survives for your child to inherit. You have known this all of your life."

"Kate is not a woman without means. Her marriage settlement was generous –"

"But the Fitzsimmons estate and fortune go to Lord Geoffrey’s eldest son."

"– and Rosamund’s sons can inherit Downton."

"You know very well that the entail does not pass through the female line, Robert."

"Then I will spend whatever amount it takes to smash the entail! I do not care, Father. I love her and I mean to marry her!"

"Robert!" Patrick’s voice whipped out like a lash, subduing his son’s passionate outburst. "If we do not act quickly, there will not be a Downton nor a need to break the entail."

"What nonsense are you speaking, Father?"

"As you know, the estate’s income has been falling for the last few years, but this last year, our revenue is down by a full twelve percent."

"That cannot be!" Robert exclaimed.

"It is true. America is flooding the market with grain from their vast heartland and we cannot match their production or their price. For months now, I have spoken at length with Mr. Jarvis and our solicitors and we are all in agreement. We can tighten our belts, economize where we can, but we are in danger of losing Downton if we do not have a substantial infusion of cash. Quickly."

Robert buried his face in his hands in disbelief. 

"My boy, I love you," Patrick said gruffly. "I want you to be happy. If it were only one thing or another, I would move heaven and earth to try to find a way forward for you. But even if your lady’s fortune were enough to save the estate – which it is not – you still need a legitimate heir or it is all for naught." He laid his hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

"In any case we do not have the luxury of time. Downton is at serious risk." He shifted in his seat and leaned closer to his son, his voice low and pleading. "We could move into the manor house and, of course, we would keep Grantham House in London. It would be vastly different, but as you know the house and the grounds are lovely and we could make do there. But Downton and all the land would have to be sold. I do not know if there is anyone in England with wealth enough to purchase it whole and so it would have to be divided up into parcels and sold. The house itself would likely be leveled but worse than anything would be the impact upon the tenants and the staff who make their living here."

Robert’s hands fell from his face and he looked at his father with eyes that were red-rimmed and glistened with unshed tears. 

"I would spare you this if I could, my son."

"I know, Father." Robert nodded and roughly ran one knuckle beneath his eye. His father was right. He had a duty to Downton above all things and he knew he could never find his own personal happiness at the expense of the estate. 

"The Season will begin in two months. Go to London. Find an heiress. A pretty girl whom you will not mind seeing across the dining room table night after night. After all, as your mother would say, ‘marriage is a long business’ so if you cannot be with the woman you love, then find a woman you will not mind being with."

"Yes, Father," Robert choked. 

"And, I do not say this lightly or without thought or sensitivity, but perhaps someday – after the estate is secure and you have children of your own – you and your lady might – discretely, of course – find one another again..."

TBC

(Next chapter: Cora)

Additional notes: I've got the first three or four chapters written – and have roughed out an outline for the rest of the story both on paper and in my head. I've no idea how many chapters it will entail, nor will I hazard a guess as I'm always, always wrong. 

There are differing accounts online of when Robert and Cora wed, how old they were at the time of their marriage and nothing I can find that indicates how long they courted or the length of their engagement before they walked down the aisle. So I'm claiming writer's privilege here.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 

Cora Levinson wrapped her hands around the mahogany bedpost and sucked in a breath as her maid tugged the laces of her corset. She closed her eyes, convinced she felt a rib shift beneath the ever-tightening cage of whalebone, lace and silk.

"Mother." She released a shallow breath and turned her attention to the woman seated erectly on the tufted chair at the dressing table. "We’ve been here for months now," she complained. "Can we not just give up and go home?"

"No, my dearest girl, we cannot. We will stay here until you secure a husband."

"But, Mother," Cora’s complaint was muffled as she bent down to allow her maid to drop her gown over her head. Straightening, she studied her reflection in the cheval glass mirror and could not suppress a tiny smile of feminine pleasure as she smoothed her hands over the frothy Worth confection of silk and lace in the most delicate shade of pink.

"Cora," Martha Levinson held up her hand to forestall any further complaints. Standing, she gestured toward her daughter who obediently sank onto the padded chair in front of the vanity.

"We have gone over this countless times." Martha arched a brow toward the maid who hurried forward to smooth a few wayward locks of Cora’s dark hair, fastening a diamond pin near the girl’s temple and securing pale pink tea roses into the intricately braided coil at her nape.

"There is no one worthy of you in America."

"But –" 

"High society families in New York and Philadelphia will not allow their heirs – or the fortunes they are set to inherit – to marry girls from the nouveaux riche class." 

"I know, Mother. I shall look for a young man of our own class –"

"You know you cannot. Those same old families are more than happy to allow their daughters to marry into new money and I shall not allow you to waste the fortune your poor Papa worked so hard to provide you on some second son with little to no inheritance of his own!"

"But, Mother. I will not know anyone here," Cora sighed. "You and Harold and everyone I know and love will be so far away and I will be left here all alone."

"I know, my darling, but you will have your husband and his family – and soon, children of your own to love."

"These English mothers are very protective and not at all welcoming," Cora frowned as she leaned toward the mirror and used a soft puff to dust powder over her nose and cheeks. "It has not proven to be as easy to secure a titled gentleman as you seemed to think, Mother."

Martha dismissed the maid and moved behind her daughter to fasten a triple-stranded choker of pink-hued pearls around the girl’s slender throat. 

"Ah, but their papas are quite enamored of American girls and of their fortunes." Laying her hands on Cora’s shoulders, she bent and pressed her cheek against her daughter’s. 

"You are a strong and independent girl, Cora. You have been lavished with a fine education beyond the drawing room manners and French lessons that English girls receive. You have been blessed with charm and beauty and a lively wit."

Her eyes narrowed as she met her daughter’s gaze in the mirror. "But you have been hiding all of that behind a mask, my dear. You think if you appear dull enough you can turn off any would-be suitors. And, more to the point, you seem to think that I have not noticed."

Rising to her full height, she arched a warning brow. "That ends tonight. I love you, my darling girl, and I will not force you to marry a man you cannot abide. You can dither all you want, but we will remain here for as long as it takes you secure a husband." Her hands tightened on her daughter’s shoulders. "And so, you will leave the dreadfully dull façade you have been hiding behind in this room and allow your true self to shine. And God willing, you will find a man with whom you can picture spending the rest of your life."

 

0o0o0o0

 

"I had word from Jarvis today. Cleo’s foal is due any day now." 

"Hmmm."

Patrick Crawley glanced at his son with surprise at the younger man’s lack of interest in the news that his favorite mare was due to drop her first foal at any time. Realizing he had not held Robert’s attention for the last several minutes, he noted his son’s interest was fixed elsewhere. Following the young man’s gaze across the room, his eyes alit on the reason for his son’s distraction.

The young woman was lovely indeed. Taller than most of the other girls in the room, her dark-haired beauty stood out. Patrick cast another glance toward the young man at his side and watched Robert’s head turn slightly to follow the girl as she moved about the floor in the arms of her dance partner. Thrilled to see that his son's attention was caught after weeks of bored disinterest with any of the many eligible young women he had met, Patrick gestured toward their host, who hurried over to join him in a whispered conversation. 

Robert watched curiously as Sir Pomeroy intercepted the young woman as she exited the dance floor with her partner. He felt the tips of his ears grow hot with the realization their host was escorting the girl directly toward them. 

"Miss Levinson, permit me to introduce you to the Earl of Grantham and his son, Lord Robert, Viscount Downton. My lords, Miss Cora Levinson of New York City."

Though she did not curtsy, the young woman inclined her head respectfully and extended a gloved hand toward the Earl.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Grantham." 

Her voice had a smoky quality to it, so different from the high, girlish tones that Robert had associated with other young women her age and he found it quite pleasing a contrast as she smiled charmingly at first father, then son. Up close, she was even more exquisite than he had first thought. Thick, dark hair framed the porcelain skin of her face and set off the stunning blue of her eyes

"Miss Levinson of New York," the Earl noted, returning her smile with one of his own. 

"Well, New York recently by way of Ohio, to be precise."

"Ohio?" Robert asked, finding his own voice. "Is that in the West?"

"The Midwest," she corrected, her smile widening. "I’m afraid there are no romantic ballads of cowboys in my family history, just hearty pioneer stock."

They chatted politely for another moment or two and then,

"Sir Pomeroy – did I see Lord Edgarton earlier? I have a matter I would very much like to discuss with him." Patrick made an elaborate show of craning his neck to peer across the crowded ballroom.

"Of course, of course," their host said jovially, catching on quickly. "I believe I see him over by the balcony doors."

"If you young people will excuse us... Miss Levinson, it was a pleasure to meet you." Smiling politely, Patrick clapped a hand on his host’s back and the two men hurried away.

Robert blinked at the obviousness of his father’s ploy to leave him alone with the beautiful young woman at his side. 

"I must apologize, Miss Levinson." He turned back to the young American who looked up at him with laughing eyes and a knowing expression on her face. "My father is usually more subtle than that," he said with a wry smile of his own.

"No need to apologize, my lord." She caught sight of her own mother just beyond the Viscount’s shoulder and pressed the tips of her fingers against her mouth to stifle the wild giggle that threatened to erupt as she took in the older woman’s wide eyes and wildly gesticulating hands. "Rest assured, you are not alone in sometimes despairing of a parent’s behavior."

Robert relaxed beneath her openly good-humored gaze and chuckled along with her. 

"Dare I hope that you might still have a dance open this evening?" he asked gallantly. "After all, it would be a terrible waste of my father’s and Sir Pomeroy’s machinations if you did not grace me with at least one turn about the dance floor."

"A terrible waste," she agreed, a dimple winking near the corner of her mouth. Raising her left arm, she proffered the decorative dance card hanging from her wrist by a braided silken cord. 

"Ah, it would seem luck is with me," Robert said as he opened the small booklet. "It appears the next waltz is still open." Taking up the small pencil attached to the cord, he entered his name with a flourish and then looked up to see a gentleman approaching.

"I believe your partner for the polka has arrived to claim you."

Inclining his head toward the two, he stepped back and sketched a courtly bow. 

"Until then, Miss Levinson of New York City."

"Until then, my lord." 

0o0o0o0

 

Cora was standing with her mother when the Viscount later made his way toward her to escort her onto the dance floor. She quickly introduced the two, breathing a sigh of relief that time dictated the first encounter between them was short and did not allow her mother to embarrass her before the music began.

"You will excuse us, Mrs. Levinson?" Robert asked politely as he cupped a hand beneath Cora’s elbow.

"Of course, of course, run along now," Martha enthused as she shooed the young couple away.

Cora was overcome with a sudden shyness as her partner led her through the steps of the dance. As they whirled about the room, she was disconcerted by the awkward silence between them. She had enjoyed the instant ease she had felt upon their first meeting and wondered at the cause of its loss.

"You’re staring," she said, desperate to break the silence. "Is there something on my face?" She lifted a gloved hand from his shoulder toward her cheek. 

"Oh, no. I do beg your pardon. It is just... up close I cannot help but notice that you have a sprinkling of freckles across your nose," he murmured distractedly. Startled and embarrassed by the words that slipped so artlessly from his tongue, he blinked rapidly and tried to stammer out a hasty apology.

"Do not apologize." The dimple at the corner of her mouth reappeared as she smiled and relaxed. "Mama is forever scolding me for wandering about without a hat, but I do so enjoy the feel of the sun on my face," she admitted in a conspiratorial tone. "I guess I should be more obedient a daughter."

"Oh no." He was surprised by the impulse to trace a forefinger over the marks that glowed like golden stardust across her nose and cheeks and instead tightened his hold at her waist. "They are very becoming," he said. 

Before long, the music came to an end and the small orchestra rose from their seats signaling that it was time to take a break for a late supper.

"It would be my pleasure to escort you to supper, Miss Levinson." 

Cora beamed and laying her hand on the fine material of his evening coat, she allowed him to lead her into the refreshment room. Waiting quietly in one corner, she removed her gloves and watched as he hastened off to fetch a plate for her. Though she had danced with more handsome men that evening, she found herself quite attracted to Robert Crawley. There was something about his manner that had made her look forward to the time when he would come to claim his dance and she bit her lip in giddy anticipation of sharing supper with him.

He returned moments later, handing her a bubbling glass of champagne and holding a small plate of food within easy reach. She popped a glossy grape into her mouth, enjoying the tangy burst of juice as she bit down.

"I hope you did not intend all of that for me," she said, eyeing the generous selection of foods piled on the delicate china plate in his hand.

"Are you not famished after all that dancing? Try the lobster salad sandwich," he encouraged.

"Goodness." She lifted a tiny sandwich from the plate. "You must promise to help. I could never eat all of this. My corset is already so tight. As it is, I can hardly breathe."

Aghast at the looseness of her own tongue, she clapped a hand against her mouth. Flushing, her gaze dropped to the floor between their feet. 

"Please do forgive me, my lord. Even for me, I fear that was entirely too forward."

He chuckled and she bravely lifted her gaze, relieved to see the twinkle dancing in his eyes. 

"Not at all, Miss Levinson," he said with a grin. "I actually find your candor to be rather refreshing. Very American." Noting the flush still riding high on her cheeks, he kindly changed the subject.

"You mentioned Ohio," he said as he obediently took a morsel from the plate in his hand. "Have you lived in New York very long?

Cora took a small sip of champagne to clear her throat. 

"My father passed suddenly, a little more than two years ago." She smiled softly at his murmured offer of sympathy. "Mother could not bear to remain in the family home in Cincinnati. She wanted to move somewhere else for a fresh start and to a place where she would not be surrounded by memories of him. We moved to New York about eight months after his death." She swallowed hard against the lump grief could still lodge in her throat and took a hasty sip of champagne. 

"And do you like living there?" Robert noted the dampness in her eyes and hurried to fill the emotion laden silence.

"Sometimes," she said thoughtfully. "New York can be very exciting. There is so much to see and to do – the theater, opera and museums. And of course there are wonderful restaurants and shops. But it can be very noisy and crowded. At times it is as if the city is bursting at the seams with people. I feel as if I am still adjusting to living in such a busy place."

"And your home in Ohio was in a small town?"

"Not small per se. I love Cincinnati – it will always be home to me – but compared to New York? Yes, it is a far cry from the hustle and bustle to be found there. I find it overwhelming at times."

"I know the feeling." Robert’s gaze traveled across the crowded, slightly overheated room and its occupants. "I much prefer the quiet of Downton."

"Is it beautiful?" she asked.

"I think it the most lovely of all places," he said with a wry twist of his lips, "but I suppose I am prejudiced toward it."

"What do you miss the most?"

"If you stand at any window of the house and look out, all you will see is open, rolling green from the manicured lawns and gardens surrounded the property to the acres upon acres of fields as far as the eye can see." His gaze was unfocused and distant as if he was seeing his home in his mind’s eye.

He gave his head a little shake and returned to the present.

"I suppose I miss the fresh air and the sense of space. I enjoy the occasional visit to London, and our townhome is beautiful in its own right and quite comfortable, but I miss the peace of Downton."

"It sounds lovely," she said. "I prefer our summer home to the one in the city."

"And where is that?"

"Newport. Mother also purchased a small cottage in Rhode Island."

"Oh, yes. I have heard of the "cottages" in Newport," he said with a chuckle and she quickly joined him in laughing.

"Some of them are quite large," she admitted with an impish smile. "And, frankly, rather garish," she added in a conspiratorial whisper. "My mother’s house is lovely and has every possible comfort you can imagine, but I promise you that it is small by comparison to many of the others. 

"Have you left any other family at home – in New York or in Cincinnati?" Robert spoke carefully, wrapping his tongue around the unfamiliar word.

"A brother – Harold. He is almost five years my senior and he stayed in Ohio to run the family business, though he has intimated that he would like to move the business’s headquarters to New York sometime in the next few years."

"But tell me," she continued. "We have spoken at some length about me – have you any siblings?"

"One. A younger sister named Rosamund. She is the bane of my existence." He tone was filled with such exasperated affection that Cora knew him to be teasing. "She is here tonight," he continued. "Perhaps I shall have the opportunity to introduce you."

Cora glowed happily at the implication he wished to continue to spend time with her. He was very attractive – with his dark, wavy hair and tall, lean figure in his evening clothes. Add to that, the flashes of humor, intelligence and charm and he was the first young man she had met in London with whom she would not mind spending more time.

The sound of the musicians tuning their instruments could be heard faintly over the various murmured conversations around them and she looked at him with a tiny frown furrowing her brow. 

"I am sorry, my lord," she said, her voice made more husky with sincere regret. "But I believe I am engaged for the next set of dances."

"Of course." He took the glass from her hand and set it on a nearby table. "As a matter-of-fact, I believe I see your next dance partner making his way toward us."

A vague feeling of disappointment settled over him as he watched her walk away and then she turned and her eyes caught his and as a shy smile curved her lips, disappointment gave way to an unexpected sense of anticipation. 

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

 

He danced with her again – twice – at the next ball and a week later found himself happily assigned to be her whist partner at Lord and Lady Hammonton's dinner party.

 

She was staring at him over the cards she held close to her mouth and her blue eyes danced with mischief when she set a card onto the table. Distracted, Robert barely looked at his cards before laying one down atop hers.

 

"Oh ho!" Lord Hammonton cried happily as he laid the winning card down with a triumphant slap. "My strategy works every time," he crowed.

 

"John," his wife called from across the room. "Hush, now," she said with a good-natured sigh at her husband's antics.

 

"Strategy, my lord?" Cora inquired politely.

 

"My dear, I arrange to have my young opponent seated across from the most beautiful girl in the room and voila! Not long after they lose all concentration on the game."

 

The older man let out another booming laugh to see her blush and clapped a conciliatory hand onto Robert's shoulder. "Cheer up, Lord Downton. You lasted longer than others," he said encouragingly. "I would think less of you had you not been distracted by the lovely Miss Levinson."

 

Robert smiled good-naturedly and rose, moving around the small table. "Would you care for some refreshment, Miss Levinson?" He held out a hand in invitation.

 

Cora nodded demurely and laid her hand in his. Allowing him to assist her to her feet, she accompanied him across the drawing room, accepting the glass of punch he poured for her.

 

"I fear we would have lost regardless of Lord Hammonton's scheming," she confided with a philosophical sigh.

 

"And why is that?"

 

"I have never really cared for whist," she admitted. "And so I am not a very good player."

 

"Nonsense."

 

"No, it is true." Rising to the tips of her toes, she cupped a gloved hand near his ear and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "Truth be told, I prefer poker."

 

He choked and sputtered on the mouthful of punch he had just swallowed and she patted a helpful hand against his back, hiding her grin behind the fingers of her other hand.

 

"Poker?" he wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "You play poker?" The words slipped from him in a disbelieving whisper.

 

"Oh, do not look so scandalized, my lord," she admonished, taking a dainty sip from her glass. "I have only ever played with my brother, Harold."

 

"Your brother?" His brows rose in surprise. "Plays poker with you?"

 

"With almost five years between us, there is very little we have in the way of common interests. But Ohio winters are often quite harsh and there were times when we were trapped indoors while the snow fell outside for days, with little in the way of entertainment. Harold grew tired of playing the games I knew – which he deemed as childish – and so he taught me to play poker."

 

She gave him a bland look and took another sip from her glass.

 

"And are you a good poker player, Miss Levinson?" Amusement at her confession colored his tone.

 

"Not really, though I do enjoy the math and strategy of the game," she sighed sadly. "But I am sorry to say that Harold has taken my allowance more than once and, of course, I could never admit to Mother or to my papa when he was still alive, why I was suddenly short of money."

 

Robert glanced across the room to where the formidable Martha Levinson stood with their hostess.

 

"No, I am sure you could not." He returned his gaze to the young woman standing at his side. "And do you and your brother continue to play?"

 

"Oh, goodness no. Harold is _much_ too busy for games now that he has taken over the family business." She rolled her eyes dramatically, reminding him in that moment of the expression he so often saw directed his way by his own sister.

 

"I will simply have to live forever on the thrill of the only time I beat him." She ran one finger idly around the rim of her glass, her eyes filled with unholy glee at the memory. "The financial stakes were not high, but the look on his face when I laid down my cards was payment enough."

 

Laughing again in remembrance, she saw her mother beckoning from across the room.

 

"You must excuse me, Lord Downton." She set down her glass. "Mother appears to have need of me." She touched gloved fingertips to either side of her mouth and took a deep breath, rearranging her features to one of placid serenity, the effect of which was ruined by the impish smile she tossed over her shoulder as she walked away.  

 

0o0o0o0

 

Returning to the Crawley townhome that evening, Robert found his valet dozing in a chair in the dressing room. The man leapt to his feet, murmuring a hasty apology which was waved carelessly away. The valet, realizing his young charge's attention was turned inward, made quick work of helping him out of his evening clothes without the usual exchange of mindless chatter between them.

 

Robert distractedly murmured a quiet good night before entering his bedchamber. He was unable to get the lovely Miss Levinson out of his head. She was a heady combination of sly humor, refined manners, intelligence and great beauty. There was a sweet innocence at her core and yet she displayed an independence and confidence not so readily found in the young women he had known since childhood. Sliding beneath the covers, he dreamt of impossibly blue eyes and soft, pink lips and when he awoke the next morning, he attributed the vague and not totally unpleasant ache in his body to thoughts of her.

 

Ringing for his valet, he washed and dressed quickly before hurrying downstairs to join his father and sister at the breakfast table.

 

"Did you have a late evening?" Patrick Crawley glanced pointedly at the clock on the mantle and Robert flushed at the reminder that he had overslept.

 

"No doubt he was spending time with his charming American," Rosamund trilled with a snickering laugh

 

"She is not _my_ American," Robert said dismissively, trying and failing to ignore his sister when she mockingly crossed her eyes and wrinkled her nose at him.

 

"Now, Miss Trouble," their father admonished. "Behave yourself before your mother gets word of your antics."

 

"She won't hear it from you though, will she dearest Papa?"

 

Robert smiled at the playful banter between his father and sister while he ate, accepting the mail presented to him by the butler on a silver salver. Taking a sip of tea, he laughed to see Rosamund skillfully flirting her way out of trouble, absentmindedly glancing at the envelope in his hand. Recognizing the handwriting on the envelope, he rose to his feet with such abrupt violence as to rattle the glass and china.

 

"Robert!" Patrick hastily laid a hand over his teacup to keep the contents from sloshing over the sides. "Whatever is the matter?"

 

"You'll please... my apologies," White-faced, Robert stammered, tucking the envelope into his pocket. "Excuse me. I – there are matters to which I must attend."

 

Patrick watched his son hasten from the room and turned his head to meet his daughter's wide-eyed gaze.

 

" _Whatever_ was that about, Papa?"

 

"I am not sure." He lifted the napkin from his lap and carefully wiped his mouth. "But we will not interfere in your brother's privacy." Rising to his feet, he gave her measured glance. "Is that understood, my girl?"

 

"Yes, Papa. Of course."

 

"Good."

 

Turning on his heel, the Earl of Grantham left the dining room and, promptly ignoring his own words, summoned the butler to meet him in his office.

 

"Danvers, my son seemed quite unsettled by the envelope you presented him a few moments ago. Do you know whom it was from?"

 

"No, my lord. There was no return address." The butler stood with near military attention on the other side of the desk.

 

Lord Grantham tapped a finger against his lip, a worried expression on his face. "Thank you, Danvers. That will be all."

 

Wrapping one hand around the doorknob, Danvers hesitated and turned back toward his employer. "My lord, if it is of help, the envelope bore a postmark from Yorkshire and the handwriting seemed to me to be quite... feminine."

 

The earl nodded thoughtfully. "That is helpful, Danvers. Thank you."

 

0o0o0o0

 

 

Alone in his room, Robert stared at the paper in his hands, eyes roving blindly over the elegant handwriting, the words already committed to memory.

 

_'Whatever were we thinking, my darling, to set off down this path together, knowing that it could only end in heartbreak?_

_And yet, even with the benefit of hindsight, I cannot regret it. For never knowing your love would be the real tragedy._

_I miss you – desperately – yet I understand why you have quit Yorkshire for London. I pray you will forgive my reaction when first you came to say goodbye. I should have known better. We have both been raised to know that duty must come before personal happiness._

_I shall devote myself to my husband and my duties as mistress of his home and I know you will do what you must to secure the future of Downton and all who rely upon you._

_I ask only that you reserve some small part of your heart for me and the love we have shared. Perhaps someday – in another life – circumstances will be kinder to us._

_Until then, I wish you happy and send to you all my love,_

_Your Kate'_

Her loneliness and sorrow were palpable to him in every smudged word. He flushed with shame to know that while his love suffered in her lonely marriage, he had been succumbing to the seductive charms of a beautiful foreigner.

 

Going to his desk, he pulled out his stationery and began to write – pouring out all of his love onto the paper, vowing that though duty may force his hand, no other woman would ever hold his heart.

 

0o0o0o0

 

Much to his father's unhappiness, Robert skipped the next two supper parties, finally acquiescing to paternal demands that he attend the Sheltons' annual ball. Knowing the Sheltons' soiree was a much sought upon invitation and thus would be crowded, he arrived with a plan to sequester himself in a quiet corner of the room at the earliest possible opportunity.

 

He saw Cora immediately upon his arrival – beautiful as ever in a gown of pale blue, a choker of pearls clasped around her throat. Their gazes met across the crowded room and her eyes sparkled with happiness; confusion dimming the radiance of her smile when he merely inclined his head politely before turning his attention to the young lady nearest him and entering his name on her dance card.

 

He engaged in just enough dances and conversations so as not to draw unwanted speculation and was careful not to bestow his attention for too long on any one young lady, making sure not to escort anyone into supper.

 

Steeling himself against the disappointed hurt and confusion evident in her expression, he spoke not a word to the lovely American.

 

0o0o0o0

 

"Perhaps you would be good enough to explain to me what game it is you are playing at, my boy."

 

Patrick Crawley entered his son's room without notice, flicking an autocratic hand toward the valet, sending him scurrying from the room.

 

"I am sure I do not know what you mean, Father." Robert stood before the cheval mirror, tugging his tie and brushing imaginary lint from the sleeve of his tailcoat.

 

"And I am equally sure that you do."

 

Patrick lowered himself into the comfortable chair near the fireplace and lit a cigar. "You well know that we are in London this season for the sole purpose of securing a bride for you – and yet you are no closer now than you were when we first arrived to doing so. As a matter-of-fact, in the last few weeks you have shown as little interest now as you did when we set foot in town. Indeed, you have avoided as many invitations as you have accepted these last weeks."

 

Robert rolled his eyes, ignoring his father's spluttering cough at the blatant show of disrespect and crossed the room to pour himself a small glass of brandy.

 

"I know my duty, Father." He rested a hip on the edge of his desk and lifted his shoulder in an indolent shrug. "But I believe it was you who instructed me to find a woman with whom I would not mind sharing my life." He took a small sip from the glass and arched an arrogant brow. "I have yet to find a woman who appeals to me enough."

 

"You certainly seemed to find the lovely Miss Levinson to be appealing." Patrick shot back, irritation at his son's dismissive manner making itself evident. "Now you make a point of ignoring her."

 

"She is beautiful and charming, but upon getting to know her better, I do not believe she is cut out to be the next Countess of Grantham," Robert said dismissively. "I did not wish to lead her on and so I felt it best to limit my contact with her."

 

"Ridiculous! Anyone with eyes in their head can see that she is gracious, intelligent and well-mannered. That she is a beauty as well only adds to her appeal."

 

"If that is the case, then why is she not already fending off multiple offers of marriage?" Robert sneered and then ran an uneasy hand over his mouth as if to wipe away the bad taste left by his own words. Ashamed to have disparaged the lady, even in private conversation with his father, he stared blindly into the glass in his hand before taking another bracing gulp.

 

"I believe you found her very desirable and perfectly suitable until you received that letter from Lady Fitzsimmons a fortnight ago."

 

Robert flinched, his fingers clenching around the crystal tumbler. Tipping it to his mouth, he drained the contents and set it down with an audible thump. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.

 

"What is it, my boy?" Patrick rose and approached his son cautiously. "Talk to me."

 

"I love her, Father," Robert whispered miserably, bravado fading at his father's obvious show of concern. "I love her and I left her behind. And Miss Levinson... she makes me... she makes me..."

 

"She makes you forget."

 

"Yes."

 

Robert touched his fingertips to his forehead where a headache was beginning to brew.

 

"Good."

 

Robert's hand fell away from his face and he looked up with shock at the satisfied tone in his father's voice.

 

"Good," the older man repeated with a decisive nod of his head.

 

"Father! You do not understand. I _love_ Katherine."

 

"My boy, I want you to listen to me. You must marry someone – you _know_ this." He laid his hands on his son's shoulders and watched him nod his head obediently.

 

"You must marry. And it was obvious that Miss Levinson was enjoying receiving your attentions as much as you were enjoying bestowing them upon her. Why would you turn away from that?"

 

"Because... Because Kate does not... that is she is not... " Robert shook his head, unable to put his feelings into words.

 

Patrick sighed, his fingers tightening around his son's shoulders and giving him a little shake. "Do you believe that because Lady Fitzsimmons is unhappy in her marriage that you must make for yourself an equally unhappy match?"

 

Robert lowered his gaze to the inch of carpeting visible between his feet and his father's, his shoulders rising and falling in a petulant shrug.

 

"James Bulmar was at the Culvert's supper party the other night."

 

Robert blinked, dazed by his father's abrupt change of subject. "Bulmar... the Duke of Southampton's heir?"

 

"Hmm." Frustrated with his son's recalcitrance, Patrick changed tacks. Feigning disinterest, Patrick paced away, stopping before the mirror to run his fingers over the thinning pate of hair atop his head. "He seemed quite attentive of the lovely Miss Levinson." Tipping his head, he gave his waistcoat an absent-minded tug before pulling out his pocket watch to check the time.

 

"But... Bulmar, he... Miss Levinson? Father, surely you have heard the rumors about him." Robert lowered his voice, his brows knitting together with concern. It was whispered in the club and among their circle that James Bulmar was known to have a deviant and rapacious sexual appetite. Robert blanched to think of the lovely young American falling prey to such a man.

 

"Surely his father does not want an American as the next Duchess of Southampton," he asked, grasping for reassurance.

 

"The Duke is no different than so many of the other great families of this country. Southampton is mortgaged to the rafters and in desperate need of an infusion of cash." Patrick eyed his son in the mirror, noting the anxious expression on the younger man's face. Careful not to reveal the pleasure he felt at Robert's obvious distress, he schooled his features into a neutral expression.

 

"Bulmar's reputation is widely discussed in the clubs and none of the finer families want to sacrifice a daughter onto the altar of his depravity nor to have their family name associated with him. Obviously, the Duke believes his son must cast a wider net. Beggars cannot be choosers after all."

 

Taking pity on the stricken expression on his son's face, Patrick stubbed out his cigar and clapped a sympathetic hand on the younger man's shoulder. "It is not our affair," he said gently.

 

Confident that he had planted a seed that would lead Robert down the right path and comforted that his son was so stricken by what he had learned that he did not even see through the obviousness of his father's ploy, Patrick turned toward the door. "Come along now. Your mother and sister are waiting and we are going to be late."

 

0o0o0o0

 

By the time they arrived at that night's party, Robert had come up with a plan. Still hoping to somehow avoid his fate, but also hoping to spare Miss Levinson from unwittingly falling into a terrible situation, he thought to find some way in which to warn her.

 

Entering the ballroom, he found her on the dance floor twirling about in the arms of James Bulmar. When the music ended, Bulmar guided her away and immediately drew her into conversation with a small group of people standing nearby.

 

And so it went. Robert made small talk and, for the most part, avoided the efforts of eligible young women and their eager mothers to entice him onto the dance floor. He kept his eye on Miss Levinson as unobtrusively as possible, hoping for an opportunity to approach her. Growing more desperate as time passed, he noted Bulmar's possessive attitude toward the lovely young woman, his fingers brushing her hand or settling briefly on the small of her back as he guided her from group to group – almost as if he was showing her off. She danced with no one else, all other potential suitors, it would seem, cowed by Bulmar's controlling behavior.

 

As the night wore on, Robert's agitation grew. He worried that her head had been turned by Bulmar's attentions. There was no doubt he was a very handsome and charming young man and he was, after all, due one day to inherit a dukedom. He would seem to a gullible young woman and her scheming mother as a triumphant catch.

 

Trapped in conversation with the daughter of the Marquess from Bath, Robert found himself absentmindedly agreeing to a dance. Trapped by the constraints of good manners, he led the young lady around the ballroom, eyes seeking out Miss Levinson each time he turned in her direction. He felt a chill race along his spine to see that she appeared to be engaged in a heated argument with Bulmar. The Duke's son had one hand wrapped around her gloved wrist and though Robert could not make out the low-voiced words they exchanged, the angry set of Bulmar's jaw was matched only the by the wide-eyed distress on Cor'as face as she strained against the man's hold on her.

 

It was with relief that Robert escorted his dance partner away from the floor when the music ended. With a mighty effort, he stayed, just barely, on the proper side of politeness proffering a quick bow and a hasty farewell.

 

0o0o0o0

 

Wrenching her arm from James Bulmar's punishing grip, Cora hurried away, tossing a fearful glance over her shoulder as if expecting to find him in hot pursuit. Murmuring her apologies, she pushed her way through the crowd, slipping through a side door and out onto the balcony which was blessedly empty due to the chill of the night air.

 

Stumbling to a bench near the rail, she sank down onto the cold stone seat, staring blindly at the garden below as she caught her breath and knit her gloved hands together to stop them from trembling.

 

"Miss Levinson."

 

Startling at the sound of her name being called in a deep male voice, she sprang to her feet. The instant fear faded when she recognized the Viscount Downton standing ten feet away, his hands raised as if to indicate he represented no threat.

 

She sank back down, her hands curling tightly around the rough edge of the bench and her fear gave way as feelings of confused hurt and even resentment, rose in its place.

 

"My lord," she said tonelessly, drawing on all her control to present an indifferent front to him. "You have been much absent of late."

 

He flinched at the pointed barb.

 

"I... that is I could not help but notice that you seem distressed," he blurted nervously. "Are you well?"

 

"It is nothing you need concern yourself with Lord Downton," she responded with stiff formality.

 

"I cannot help but worry." Taking a chance, he eased himself down onto the other end of the bench.

 

"And why is that, my lord?"

 

"I... well, that is... we... I thought we were friends and..." He stammered, cursing himself as soon as the words slipped from his mouth.

 

"Friends?" She laughed softly, though the sound held no mirth. "Friends," she repeated in a voice so low he almost missed it.

 

"Miss Levinson. I may be overstepping my bounds, but it appeared that Lord Bulmar said something which caused you great distress."

 

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she pointedly turned her head away and they sat in awkward silence for an excruciatingly long moment and then,

 

"Has he asked you to marry him?"

 

She whipped her head back toward him. "Do you not think that an outrageously personal question to ask?" she replied, shock coloring her voice.

 

"I do," he agreed easily, seemingly unperturbed by the audacity of his question. "Has he?"

 

"I fail to see how that is any business of yours, my lord." Spine snapped straight, she fixed him with a haughty gaze that would do his own mother proud.

 

"It isn't," he agreed again. "And still, I must ask. Has he?"

 

"Why should you care?" She rose to her feet and moved to the balustrade, staring again at the manicured garden below.

 

"It is a simple question, Miss Levinson. Has he asked you to marry him?"

 

"Not yet," she sighed.

 

"And do you think he will?"

 

"I believe so." She shrugged, tears springing to her eyes and blurring her vision. Biting her lip, she fought for control. "He has implied as much and seems interested. Then again, perhaps I am mistaken for I had once believed another gentleman to be similarly interested, but it appears I misjudged the situation."

 

She chanced a peek over her shoulder and some small, mean part of her took pleasure in seeing her barb hit home when he winced and hurriedly looked away.

 

"And will you say yes?" He stared through the glass doors at the party guests twirling about the dance floor.

 

"I do not know that I will have a choice," Cora murmured, surprised at her own candor. "Mother is determined that I should be engaged by the end of the Season and she is quite giddy at the thought that I may one day be a duchess."

 

"Surely, she cares what you think. How you feel."

 

"She does, but she is also growing impatient with what she calls my dithering." She began to pace, rubbing the fingers of one hand absentmindedly over the wrist of the other, the words spilling from her now in a torrent of anxiety that overrode the conventions of propriety. "I have spent quite a lot of time finding fault with one man or another since our arrival in London, so much so that I do not think she would believe me even if I should raise an objection." A mournful sound escaped her throat. "And what should I say?" she murmured as if speaking to herself. "That there is something about him that makes me uneasy, but which I cannot put into words?  


"Yes."

 

Caught up in her own misery, she jolted as if surprised to find him still nearby and then shook her head.

 

"He is gracious, even flirtatious with her." She shrugged one shoulder in irritation. "I know what people here think of my mother, as does she. _He_ at least hides his disdain. She could not speak more highly of him if she tried and if I were to raise an objection against him, she would accuse me of stalling and finding yet more excuses simply to avoid marrying anyone."

 

0o0o0

 

Listening to Cora speak, Robert realized how similar their situations were and felt compassion swell within him. He had felt the sharp prick of her words and was shamed by his behavior and treatment of her in recent weeks. Rising to his feet, he moved toward her. Not realizing how close his proximity was, she pivoted on her heel and nearly plowed into him. He reached out to steady her, fingers closing around her wrist and she cried out in pain, snatching her arm away from him and cradling it against her breast.

 

"My... my apologies," he stammered. "I did not mean to injure you." He guided her back to the bench, taking a seat close to her side. "Please, will you let me see?"

 

"My lord!" she gasped when he touched the top of her glove, his fingers brushing the tender flesh inside her elbow as he began to peel the fabric down her arm. "You must not!"

 

Ignoring the inappropriateness of his own behavior as well as her attempts to pull away, he tightened his grip around her upper arm and insistently tugged the glove from her to reveal a livid bracelet of finger-shaped bruises encircling the delicate skin of her wrist.

 

He inhaled sharply and looked up, a murderous glint in his eye.

 

"Did he do this to you?"

 

Refusing to answer, she closed her eyes against the tears threatening to fall and tried again to pull free. His grip remained implacable around her elbow, though he cradled her injured wrist gently in the other hand.

 

"Did he do this to you? Cora!"

 

His use of her given name startled her into opening her eyes.

 

"Yes," she whispered.

 

Rage flared, hot and white, and he rose to his feet.

 

"I'll kill him."

 

"No!" She clamped her free hand over his arm, her nails digging frantically into the fine cloth of his coat. "No, please. I beg of you. You will only start a scandal." Her voice hitched on a sob. "Please. My lord. Please do not."

 

He reluctantly sank back down beside her and took a deep breath, willing a calmness into his voice that he did not feel.

 

"Cora." His voice was gentle now. "You cannot mean to marry him." Taking her hand into his again, he absentmindedly ran his thumb soothingly over the marks around her wrist. "You cannot marry such a man."

 

Agitated, he ran the palm of one hand over his mouth and jaw. "Your instincts are right," he said reluctantly. "There is talk of him in my club – things I cannot repeat in your presence, but..." He sighed and bent his head over their hands. "There is a reason he is not married to a daughter of the ton."

 

"Yes. Their fortunes are not sufficient enough to meet his needs. He is not alone in that respect," she said tartly, a flash of the feisty nature that so intrigued him showing itself through her obvious dismay.

 

"You cannot marry him," he repeated. Touching a finger to her chin, he forced her to look him in the eyes. "You have a lively and vibrant spirit and I fear marriage to Bulmar will break you."

 

He saw genuine fear in her eyes and hated himself for putting it there.

 

"Perhaps he will not ask," she breathed hopefully.

 

Robert rose and began to pace. He knew Bulmar _would_ ask. Cora was right. They were – all of them – here for a singular purpose. Though he was loathe to associate himself with the other man in any manner, they were no different in one respect. They both needed to secure brides who brought with them great wealth. And Cora was a prize. Lovely and intelligent with a fortune to match.

 

Where they differed, Robert knew, was that Bulmar cared not a whit about her curious mind and bright spirit.

 

"Marry me."

 

The words escaped him before he could call them back and he whirled about to face her. The shock he felt at his impetuous offer was mirrored in her dazed expression. She shook her head slowly back and forth.

 

"No," she refused simply.

 

"Cora." Dropping to his knees at her side, he took her hands gently into his own. "Marry me instead."

 

"I cannot, my lord," she refused again. "You have made your lack of interest clear over these last days." Her voice was cool and steady though her hands trembled violently in his, betraying her calm expression. "I will not allow you to make such a sacrifice as to tie yourself to a woman you have no desire to marry in a bid to save me from an undesirable match."

 

"It was not a lack of interest that made me turn from you." He tightened his fingers around hers. "Rather it was because I could not get thoughts of you out of my head."

 

Confusion dulled the brilliant blue of her eyes. "That makes no sense, my lord."

 

Robert looked down, casting about in his mind as to how much of the truth he was willing to share.

 

"My situation is not so very different from yours," he confessed. "You are here in London at your mother's bidding to secure a titled husband." 

 

Cora winced to hear her mother's motives laid bare in such stark terms and he smiled to soothe the sting of his words.

 

"I am also here at my father's behest. I will speak plainly and not insult your intelligence. As you have already rightly pointed out, my circumstances are similar to many others in our circle – including Lord Bulmar's."

 

He huffed out a bitter laugh. "We have ancestral titles and great estates and little money to sustain them. My Downton faces a perilous financial future if we do not find an infusion of funds to support it. My father has taken great pains to remind me that it is my duty to do just that."

 

"Do you not wish to marry for love?" she whispered, eyes darting over his face searchingly.

 

"You know that marriages in our class are often business mergers – not romances. That has always been the way." He swallowed past the lump in his throat as an image of Kate's face swam in his mind's eye. "It is time I set aside a young man's fancy toward romance and grow up.

 

She said nothing in response, her head lowered and gaze fixed firmly on where her hands rested in his.

 

"You're trembling," he noted.

 

"It is chilly out here." The lameness of her excuse was obvious, but he rose from his knees to strip off his coat, wrapping the finely milled wool around her shoulders and settling again on the bench at her side.

 

"I think we would get on well together," he murmured softly. "As my father has said – if I must marry, why not marry a lovely woman who intrigues me and makes me smile?"

 

"If you felt that way, then why have you been so remote of late?"

 

"Because I have been foolishly fighting against my fate." A melancholy smile tipped up one corner of his mouth. "I thought I could – what did you call it? Dither? I thought I could delay and dither and put off my future. But again, my father was right. I _do_ like you, Cora. Very much. And I was a fool to treat you so badly."

 

He shifted closer so that his leg pressed against hers through the layers of their clothing. Now that he had made the offer, he found himself desperate that she should accept.

 

"Marry me."

 

"How do I know this is not merely a case of you not wanting me but also not wanting anyone else to have me?

 

"It's not," he assured her. "We have much to learn about each other, but I believe you know me well enough already to know that is not the case. Marry me."

 

"As your friend?"

 

"As my _wife_ in every respect. I meant it when I said I thought we would get on well together. I believe we will find we suit one another in many ways."

 

She gasped softly, and even in the dim light, he could see the blush that spread over her cheeks as the meaning behind his words was made clear. Staring into her eyes, he knew she was giving his offer great consideration and he found himself silently willing her to accept him.

 

0o0o0o0

 

 

Cora took a deep breath, trying to marshal her confused thoughts. The lightning quick turnaround of his behavior toward her – from weeks of disregard to proposal – left her dazed and off balance.

 

"I will not answer you tonight," she said with slow deliberation. "Your offer is kind, but you must admit, impetuous."

 

"Cora."

 

"No." She cut him off with a quick shake of her head. "I would urge you to take the evening and truly consider what you are suggesting, my lord. We are very young and you are talking about something which will affect the rest of our lives." She gathered her wits and raised her chin proudly.

 

"I do not want you to make a proposal out of a rash desire to play the hero. I am no damsel in distress. If you still feel the same way after a night's reflection, then you may call on me tomorrow around eleven. You can be assured I will do nothing but think on your offer between now and then and I will have an answer for you at that time."

 

He nodded and tightened his hand over hers once before removing it.

 

She rose, shrugging out of his coat and handed it back to him. Glancing through the glass doors, she saw her mother still in deep conversation with the woman she had been speaking with earlier and realized how little time had actually passed since her entire world shifted on its axis.

 

She looked again at the crowd gathered on the other side of the doors, saw James Bulmar carelessly toss back a drink while sharing a bawdy laugh with a group of young men. She shuddered in revulsion and took a deep breath before returning her attention to the man standing near her.

 

"You should know, my lord, that I had begun to care for you a great deal," she said with her usual candor. "I was flattered by your attentions and thought perhaps you shared those feelings. And so it hurt very much when you turned away from me."

 

She shook her head and held up a hand to silence him when he would have spoken.

 

"Please, sir. You have had your say and I hope you will allow me to have mine. I know now that you do not share those feelings – and perhaps never will. I do not say these things from a desire to burden you with guilt, but rather because I wish to make clear that I have no interest in a marriage based solely as a business transaction. You say you think we will get along well and that may be the case. At the very least I want affection and friendship. I want children – and though I know it is not at all fashionable in our circle – I want a husband who will remain faithful. It is important to me that you take my wishes into consideration. If you cannot promise me these things, then you need not bother to call upon me tomorrow."

 

Drawing her evening glove back up her arm, she held him with the direct gaze he had come to associate with her. "If you have not come to call by eleven, I will know you have changed your mind. I will not hold it against you, and we need never speak of it again. But I would beg you do me the courtesy of not -approaching me in any manner should our paths cross again."

 

Straightening her back, she crossed the balcony and reached for the doors.

 

"I am going to plead a headache and make my excuses." She chanced a glance over her shoulder and saw him watching her with a solemn expression on his face.

 

"Until tomorrow, Lord Downton."

 

"Until tomorrow, Miss Levinson."

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting may slow down from this point on. I have the better part of the next chapter or two written and a lot of ideas jotted down or floating around in my head, but nothing concrete written beyond that. I hope to work on it as time permits. If it's at all helpful, I have never abandoned a story.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

 

"An American!" 

Her usual composure rattled by her son's announcement that he intended to marry Miss Cora Levinson of New York by way of some godforsaken place called Cincinnati, Violet Crawley had sat with an unnatural quietness when the two families had gathered in the parlor of the Crawley townhouse the next evening to raise a glass in toast to the couple. She had forced a smile to her lips and had murmured the appropriate things when necessary until Robert had left to escort his fiancée and her mother back to their rented dwelling.

Now, relieved of the need for forced civility dictated by good breeding and manners, she paced the confines of her husband's study, her agitation evident in every prowling step. 

"How can you be so calm?" she asked staring at her husband in disbelief. "Surely, Patrick, you are not in agreement that the next Countess of Grantham should be a nouveau riche American!"

"The Americans are the only ones with money to spare," he shrugged. "And we need the income now, my dear," he reminded her patiently.

"She is lovely," Violet muttered. "But her mother is a vulgar nightmare. Do you truly wish to share grandchildren with such a woman?"

"Miss Levinson seems to have little in common with her mother who, I remind you, lives far, far away. There will be an ocean between us and she will have no influence over our grandchildren."

Violet sank wearily into a chair. "He is my son, Patrick. I know I am not the most demonstrative of mothers, but I want him to be happy. To be loved." 

"You and I did not marry for love, my dear. And we have had our share of bumps in the road," he reminded her pointedly. "But all things considered, I would say that we've been happy together. Do you not agree?"

"Yes, of course," she said. "But there were times when I did not think we would make it through whole." Her lips tipped up in a wistful smile when he reached across his desk to take her hand into his. 

"And yet here we are." He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Miss Levinson is bright and intelligent and lovely, to be sure. But more to the point, he likes her," he stressed. "She is the only young woman in whom he has shown any interest since we arrived in London. From the moment he first laid eyes on her, he has been fascinated by her. He likes her," he repeated. "And desires her," he added bluntly. He raised his brows and grinned when his wife let out a token huff of disapproval. 

"Must you be so coarse, Patrick?"

"And she loves him, though she does her best to hide it."

"Why ever would she do that?" Violet sputtered indignantly.

"Because she knows her feelings are not reciprocated."

"Oh, Patrick." Her trademark rigid posture gave way and her shoulders slumped in despair. "Surely that is a recipe for disaster."

"I don't know. If I am being honest, I am optimistic. She brings with her everything we could hope for. Beauty, intelligence and wit enough to charm and intrigue our son, as well as a fortune which will save Downton for their children and their children's children. If he has to marry – and he must – then I am content in knowing that he has chosen a woman who not only fits the bill on a purely practical level, but who also loves him. I feel quite hopeful for their future together."

Violet pursed her lips and shook her head. "I cannot give my approval of this match, but as it is no longer in my hands, I will pray you are right."

0o0o0o0

The wedding date was set for three months hence. A party to honor the newly betrothed couple was hastily arranged, adding to the whirl of social engagements that made up the London Season. There was a great deal of discussion about where to hold the wedding with both mothers having firm opinions on the subject, but in the end it was Cora who prevailed.

"Are you quite sure, my dear?" Robert asked. "It is tradition for a bride to be married from her home church."

"The church at Downton will be my home, Robert. Why should our new life not begin there?" She patted his hand and turned to look at her mother. 

"Don't you agree, Mother?"

Martha Levinson took one look at her daughter's face, recognizing the girl's mulish expression as one she often saw reflected back in her own mirror and ceded the battle.

"Whatever you wish, my darling. You are the bride." And having acquiesced gracefully, she took a sip of tea, mentally already at work on the guests she would invite from New York and gleefully picturing the awed looks on their faces when they had their first glimpse of Downton which she knew – thanks to her sly inquiries of others – to be stunning. 

"Be sure, Cora," Robert entreated, brushing his lips over the sapphire engagement ring adorning her left hand. "I do not want you to regret giving up the opportunity to return to your home, just because you wish to please me."

"I am sure," she said. "But I would like you to promise to take me there another time – perhaps next summer. I would love to show you New York and to spend time with you in Newport."

0o0o0o0

 

The couple was separated soon after that. Cora was whisked away to Paris to see to her trousseau and though Robert looked forward to returning to the blissful quiet of Downton, he dreaded the task which lay ahead of him. But knew he owed it to Kate to see her and tell her his news in person.

"Of course, I knew this day was coming," she said as they stood hidden in a thick copse of trees on her husband's property. "And still, I find myself unprepared." Tears spilled over her lashes and he helplessly drew her into his arms. Pressing his cheek against her blonde curls, he hushed her sobs against his chest, pleading for her forgiveness.

"And what is there to forgive?" She dashed her fingers against her wet cheeks in a futile effort to wipe away the tears that flowed. "You are bound by duty." Sighing, she nestled closer and wound her arms around his waist. 

"I shall miss you, my love," he said brokenly. "I wish..."

"Oh, Robert!" She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his in a desperate kiss. "Must we part... can we not continue as we have been?"

"For how long?" he asked. "All along we have rationalized what we're doing by telling ourselves that it was only a matter of time before we could be together openly. But now..." He shook his head. "I cannot ask you to continue on in this way forever. It is not fair to you or to –" 

"Not fair to whom, Robert? To your wife?" For the first time, anger leapt into her voice and she wrenched herself free of his arms. 

"Would you have me break my vows before I have even made them?" He gazed sorrowfully at her tear-stained face. 

"I have broken my vows numerous times for you," she said defiantly. "Why should you not do the same for me?"

He raised his gaze to the trees as if the gently swaying branches held the answers to all his problems. "It is not the same," he began slowly. "You were not... that is you and he were no longer..." He felt a flush heating his cheeks as he forced the words out. 

"Would you have me leave her bed for yours and then back again? Is that what you want?"

"No!" She spun and paced several steps away. "I want you to be mine – and mine alone!" Shoulders heaving on a sob, she wrapped her arms around herself.

"Oh, my darling." Striding forward, he laid his hands on her shoulders and gently drew her back against his chest. "I wish for that as well." His father's words whispered in his head – once Downton was safe and he and Cora had produced an heir or two, then he would be free to pursue a life separate from the duty of marriage. "Who knows..." he rasped. "Perhaps someday..."

"Someday," she whispered miserably before drawing in a shaky breath. "You should go." She stepped away, her back resolutely turned to him.

"Kate."

"Please, Robert. I understand. Truly, I do. And I do not blame you for anything. But, please. I cannot... I cannot." Stifling a sob, she grasped her skirts in both hands and ran.

0o0o0o0

Cora and her mother arrived at Downton three weeks prior to the wedding and Robert found that it was easier with her there to set aside his personal heartache as he threw himself into being a most attentive bridegroom.

Practically vibrating with pride, he took her on a tour of the beautiful abbey she would now call her home – pointing out objects of interest and whispering scandalous secret stories about long dead ancestors in her ear. 

Cora had instantly longed to see every bit of the estate grounds, but final fittings for her wedding gown and the attendant social obligations on the bridal couple and their families as they were feted by a whirlwind of parties and dinners leading up to the big day, meant there was time only for Robert to show her a few of his most favorite places. 

"We have a lifetime for me to learn everything there is to know about Downton, Robert," she whispered when he had expressed his frustration at the never-ending interruptions. And, indeed, when the discussion had come up as to where to spend their wedding trip, Cora had suggested that she would prefer staying close to Downton. 

"You wish to spend our honeymoon under the same roof as my parents?" Robert asked, surprise written across his face.

"Not in the same house," she said with a smile and a roll of her eyes, but perhaps someplace nearby?"

"You would not rather go somewhere else?" he asked. "Italy?"

"To be perfectly honest, I am heartily tired of traveling, Robert. Two shopping excursions to Paris since leaving New York and the rest of our time spent in beautiful – but rented – lodgings in London." Cora made a face. "I would like to see Italy someday. Perhaps you can take me for an anniversary trip?" She leaned against him and traced a finger over the buttons on his shirtfront, pleased by her own boldness and his quick inhalation of breath. "But what I really want is to get to know my new home. After the wedding I know you will have to return to your normal duties. I cannot expect that you will be free to drop everything and show me about. I want to learn to see Downton through your eyes. I want to love it as you do."

He could not claim to love her – but as she spoke, some nameless emotion swamped him. Moved by her look of open admiration and innocence and her desire to please him, he framed her face between his hands and crushed his mouth to hers. He heard her gasp, felt the tremor that raced through her slim frame. He had kissed her before, of course, each kiss a chaste and affectionate affair. Now his mouth moved purposefully over hers, teeth nipping her lower lip until her mouth parted on another gasp and he deepened the kiss, tongue slipping past her teeth to stroke once against her own.

Sucking in a startled breath, she pulled back slightly, eyes open wide. He was pleased when she curled her fingers around his wrists – not, as he first thought – to tug his hands away from her face, but rather to steady herself as she rose onto the tips of her toes to hesitantly touch her mouth to his again, her lips parting easily against his in invitation. His mouth roved over hers, hungrily swallowing the tiny sounds that escaped her and as desire for her surged through him, suddenly, it seemed the wedding day could not come soon enough to suit him.

"I... I'll make all the arrangements," he rasped, his throat made tight with want as he finally, reluctantly parted from her.

"Just..." She bit her lip and flashed him a shy look through the thick fringe of her lashes. "Perhaps that sweet cottage you showed me yesterday?"

"The lodge?" he asked with no little surprise at her choice as he had been thinking of the dower house – empty now for a handful of years since his grandmother's passing. "You want to honeymoon at the lodge?"

"It's charming, don't you think?" She bit her lip, worried that she had somehow disappointed him. "So quaint and pretty situated as it is amongst all those trees with that gurgling stream running nearby. I thought it rather like something you'd see in a book of fairytales. I found it quite lovely."

"It's small," he began.

"Exactly." She shifted closer, curling her fingers around the lapel of his tweed coat. "It will just be the two of us," she shrugged. "How much room do we require?"

He mulled it over. The lodge was rather charming, he mused, seeing it through her eyes. Though comfortably appointed, it did not hold the same luxuries as the dower house, of course, and the décor did lean toward the masculine as it was primarily used by him and his father for hunting or fishing excursions...

"There isn't much room for staff," he murmured. "A couple of rooms in the back for a cook and a maid, perhaps a footman..." he mused aloud. "But that would be it," he warned. "I cannot see how we could accommodate more than that." His brows drew together in a frown. "There would be no room for a ladies' maid at the lodge. The dower house would allow us to bring more staff."

She wrinkled her nose at the thought of the dower house. Lovely, to be sure, it did not hold the same appeal as the more secluded lodge. 

"We shall spend the rest of our lives surrounded by others." She gnawed her lower lip between her teeth, raising her eyes to him pleadingly. "Your family, a large staff and someday our own children." A pretty blush rose to her cheeks. "I would forego the cook too if I could." Her desire to be truly alone with her husband was revealed in her words.

"And can you cook, my dear?" he asked, arching a teasing brow.

"I'll have you know that I can scramble an egg and make tea." Her chin tipped upward, she sent him a haughty look through veiled lashes; lips trembling as she fought not to smile.

He threw back his head and let out a hearty laugh. "We shall starve!" He grinned and tapped a finger to the tip of her upturned nose. "As I do not wish to survive on scrambled eggs alone for ten days, I shall come up with an alternative plan as far as a cook goes," he said. "And since we will not be entertaining nor going out in the evenings, I suppose we can muddle through without the need for a great many staff."

"Thank you, Robert." Emboldened by his kisses and the evidence of his desire for her, she laid her hand against the front of his shirt, lightly plucking a button between her fingers. "I shall serve as your valet." She shot him an impish smile as she slipped out of his arms and began to back away. "And you can be my ladies' maid." 

Laughing at the surprised look on his face, she turned and began to saunter down the path that would lead them back to the house, pleased by her own boldness and confident he would follow.

0o0o0

The day of the wedding dawned to perfect blue skies and a comfortably warm early summer breeze.

Staring through the tall window of her room, Cora watched as a small army of staff hustled from the house to the large white tent set up on the wide green expanse of lawn where the wedding luncheon would be held. The hand that lifted a delicate teacup to her lips was perfectly steady, betraying no hint of her anxiety. On the inside, she could feel the nerves fluttering about, causing her stomach to jump in such a manner that she defied her mother when the older woman tried to force her to eat something to break her fast.

"I could not possibly swallow even the smallest morsel, Mother." She laid a hand over her stomach and took in a long, bracing breath. "I shall eat after the wedding."

Not wishing to argue with the girl on her wedding day, Martha Levinson held her hands up before her in acquiescence and instead instructed the maid to draw a bath for the bride.

A long soak in the hot, scented water had helped to calm Cora's nerves and she was quietly studying her reflection in the vanity mirror as her maid began brushing out her long, dark hair when a knock sounded at the door. Setting down the brush, the maid hurried across the room to open the door.

"Who was it?" Cora asked as the young woman returned to her side with a polished wooden box in her hands.

"Lord Downton's valet, Miss Cora," the girl said as she handed the box to her young mistress. "A gift from his lordship."

Cora flipped the tiny metal latch open with a flick of her fingers and lifted the lid, sucking in a deep breath as the contents of the box were revealed. She heard near identical gasps of wonder escape from the other women as she reached into the box and drew a sparkling tiara from a nest of blue satin.

The headpiece was designed to look like a wreath of vines, leaves and flowers. Each delicately sculpted leaf was crusted with pave-set diamonds and separated by floral clusters, each petal a perfectly cut round diamond.

"It's surely the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Miss Cora," the maid breathed and Cora raised dazed eyes to meet her mother's in the mirror. 

"I have to agree," Martha Levinson let out a breathless laugh and leaned over her daughter's shoulder for a better look. "It is absolutely stunning."

"There's a letter here that came with it, Miss." The maid held out a small white envelope and Martha saved the tiara from tumbling to the floor when Cora reached eagerly for the note.

"My dearest Cora, this tiara has been worn by every Crawley bride for three generations. It would please me greatly to see you wearing it today when you take my hand and my name. I shall await you at the church. – Yours ever, Robert"

Tucking the thick card bearing her soon-to-be husband's slashing handwriting back into its envelope, she took the tiara back from her mother's hands and settled it atop her unbound hair. "My Lord Downton wishes that I should wear this today." She twisted her head from side-to-side and the three women admired the icy sparkle of the jewels against her dark hair. "I suppose I can accommodate him in this as it appears to be important to him," she said with a regal wave of one hand, before bursting into giggles. 

0o0o0o0

 

Climbing from the carriage outside the church, Cora stood quietly while Rosamund shooed the three little Crawley cousins serving as flower girls into place. 

"I am so glad we will be sisters." Rosamund brushed a kiss over Cora's cheek through the gossamer veil before hurrying into the church to take her seat. 

Taking a deep breath, Cora laid one hand on Harold's proffered arm and allowed him to lead her through the doors and into the back of the lovely old stone church. 

Harold opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it again. Clearing his throat, he turned toward his sister. 

"I wish you happy, Cora." His brow furrowed in a rare show of emotion. "As I know Father would if he were here to give you away today."

"Oh, Harold." She fought back tears when he raised her hand to brush an awkward kiss over her knuckles. They were not the closest of siblings but in that moment she knew she would miss him terribly and she whispered as much, gracing him with a watery smile before straightening her back and blinking away tears.

"Ready?" he asked.

Pressing the lush bouquet of flowers in her hand against her middle to quell her fluttering nerves, she nodded. 

"Ready."

The congregation rose to its feet as the first strains of Mouret's Rondeau piped down from the organ loft and Cora began the long slow march down the aisle toward her future. Banks of June roses, culled from the gardens of the estate perfumed the air and sunlight streamed through the stained glass of the windows, splashing their muted colors over the lace and silk of her bridal gown. She was vaguely aware of the guests lining the aisle, dimly knew herself to be the focus of everyone's attention in that moment, but she had eyes only for the man awaiting her at the altar. She saw his head twitch slightly to his left as if tempted to turn to watch her approach, before checking himself back into place. At last she arrived at his side and he turned his head to greet her. His gaze was quietly watchful and solemn and feeling as though her heart would burst, she offered him a radiant smile and was gladdened to see his lips twitch and a smile crinkle his eyes at the corners in response. 

"Dearly beloved," the bishop intoned, as the ceremony began, and the couple turned their attention toward him as he began to speak the ancient words signifying the importance and solemnity of marriage until finally it was time to exchange their vows.

"Robert," the bishop said. "Wilt thou have this woman as thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt though love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health so long as you both shall live?"

"I will."

She heard the nerves in his voice, but his eyes were clear as turned his head for a moment to look upon her face and she felt something flutter low in her belly in response. Then it was her turn and she was promising to love, honor and obey. 

The bishop blessed the ring and she watched Robert lift the golden circle from the open pages of the bible. Holding it between thumb and forefinger, they turned to fully face each other for the first time. 

"With this ring, I thee wed." He pushed the ring to her first knuckle and she could feel the fine tremors coursing through him as he held her hand in his. "With my body, I thee worship. With all my worldly goods, I thee endow. In the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

"Amen." Her echo was a whisper of sound but her expression was joyful as the bishop spoke the final words, pronouncing them husband and wife. The congregation applauded and she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as they turned to face their guests together. Her mother preened – proud and pleased. Across the aisle, his mother hid her concerns behind a stoic mask. 

Cora tucked her hand into the bend of his elbow as they stepped down from the altar and accepted her bouquet back from Rosamund and then Robert was leading her back down the aisle and out of the church. There they were greeted by a cheering throng of locals who had gathered and to the crowd's delight, Robert tucked thumb and forefinger beneath his bride's chin, lifting her mouth to his for their first kiss as man and wife before helping her into the flower-bedecked open carriage awaiting them. 

The village streets and the stone-walled roads leading back to the house were lined with even more people, a festive feeling permeating the air as they waved small flags and called out to the bridal couple. The people of Downton had known Robert from the time he was a small lad tumbling through the fields and later racing down the country roads astride his horse, and they came out in force to wish him well and to catch a glimpse of his American bride. 

Cora soaked it all in, her face alight with amazement, cheeks flushed with wonder and she impulsively lifted a hand to wave at a trio of young girls who raced alongside the carriage. 

Soon enough, the carriage wheels crunched over the graveled drive leading to the great house itself. The senior staff had hurried back from the church the moment the service was over and were now arrayed outside the front door to greet the newlyweds. Robert alighted from the carriage and Cora rose, gathering her skirts in one hand and grasping his with the other as she carefully stepped down from the carriage. A warm breeze swirled about, lifting her veil into a lacy streamer behind her and she raised both hands with a gasp, laughing when her husband leapt to corral the delicate fabric.

"I thought it might sweep you away," he grinned, letting go of handfuls of lace and awkwardly settling it back around her.

Cora laughed again and impulsively rose onto her toes, flinging her arms around his neck in a joyous embrace. She sank back onto her heels at the sound of approaching carriages and turning, retrieved her bouquet from the carriage seat. The sun glinted on the blue sapphire of her engagement ring and the slim gold circle newly adorning her hand and she paused to admire the jewelry that had once belonged to Robert's paternal grandmother. 

Robert brushed his lips over her rings and her breath caught in her throat at his possessive gesture. "Shall we?"

Draping her veil over her forearm, lest the delicate fabric tear on the gravel, she allowed her husband to lead her toward the house.

"Welcome home, my lord. Might I offer my congratulations?" The starch-shirted butler solemnly inclined his head toward Robert and then turned to her, the stiff lines of his features softening ever so slightly. 

"Welcome home, my lady." 

Cora was startled to hear the title applied to her and blinked in surprise as the staff bowed and curtsied to her.

"I... I thank you," she stammered. Glancing up into her husband's face, she saw him give her a nod and gentle smile. 

"Thank you," she repeated, making eye contact with each member of the assembled staff. "I, that is his lordship and I appreciate all the hard work you put into making this day so special for us."

A crowd was beginning to gather behind them as their families and guests arrived and they hastened inside to receive their guests. Cora stood between her new father-in-law and her husband and listened attentively as Patrick introduced each guest to her. When all the guests had arrived and had been ushered through the house and out onto the back lawn and into the shade of the tent, Cora and Robert were whisked into the library by the photographer hired to take their wedding portrait.

The photographer's assistant took the heavy bouquet from Cora and set it aside, escorting her to take a seat on an upholstered bench. The assistant fussed with Cora's dress, fluffing the lace and silk of her skirts around her legs and artfully draping her veil over one padded rolled arm of the bench. Robert was guided to sit on the other side of the bench, his torso twisted so that he faced the camera.

"My lord, if you could rest your elbow on the arm... yes, yes. Just so," the photographer praised as Robert obeyed, his white gloves clutched in his free hand. 

"And, my lady, if you would shift slightly closer to... there, that's perfect." Cora accepted her bouquet back from the assistant, waiting patiently while the photographer directed the placement of each cascading ribbon until he was satisfied.

Robert shifted minutely on the seat as he waited for the photographer's assistant to stop fussing and she shivered, suddenly acutely aware of the heat of his thigh pressed against her hip through the layers of their clothes.

Cora tipped her head slightly toward her husband, a small smile playing about her lips, revealing the dimple near the corner of her mouth and the photographer, pleased with the spontaneity of the pose, quickly instructed them to remain very still as he removed the lens cap, counting quietly under his breath.

"Very good," he praised. "Now, my lady, if you would stand..." 

He posed them again, this time with Robert seated on the bench, legs casually crossed at the knee, Cora standing at his side, one hand clutching her flowers, her left hand resting on his shoulder so that her rings were visible. Once more they waited while her skirts and veil were fluffed and draped until they met with the photographer's satisfaction. 

After a third and final pose, they were released and then hurried through the house to join their families and guests. The afternoon raced by as they lunched on salmon mousse and scallops, lobster salad, caviar, cold slices of turkey and beef and sipped from glasses filled with frothy, golden champagne. The cake was carried out by two footmen under the watchful eyes of the cook and her assistant. Cora and Robert shared the first slice and then the cook and her assistant stepped forward to cut and box the rest of the cake. Cora handed each guest a boxed piece of cake as she and Robert accepted their congratulations and bid them each a farewell until finally they were alone with only their families about.

The small group retired to the library and Cora sank down onto the settee with a grateful sigh.

"Tired?" Robert asked as he settled at her side and she smiled and shook her head. 

"Not really, but my feet do hurt." She stretched out her legs so that the toes of her white satin shoes peeped from beneath the hem of her skirt. 

They spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing with their families and then Cora's mother leaned over the girl's shoulder to whisper softly into her ear.

"Let's get you out of that dress and into something more comfortable before you leave, shall we?" 

Cora smiled and Robert sprang up to assist her to her feet. 

"We'll leave in about two hours." He brushed his lips over her cheek. "Take your time."

Martha held out a hand toward her daughter, and feeling a surge of affection for her mother, Cora clasped it between her own as they climbed the grand staircase toward her room.

"Are you sure you cannot stay until we return, Mother?" Though they often clashed, Cora suddenly, acutely felt the impending loss of the woman who had been ever present in her life. 

"Harold must return to the business." Martha stroked a hand over her daughter's cheek. "And I do not wish to make the crossing alone." She took hold of Cora's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Besides, I do not think your husband's mother and I would get along well for ten days without you and your dear Robert to run interference." The corner of her mouth tipped up in a sly smirk. "No, our passage is booked and we shall take the morning train to Liverpool and set sail the day after."

"I will miss you, Mother," Cora whispered. Eyes suddenly brimming with tears, she wrapped her arms around her mother's waist and laid her head on the older woman's shoulder.

"Oh, my dearest girl. I shall miss you as well." Martha rested a cheek against her daughter's hair. "But we will write often and I will be back for the christening of each of your children – and someday for their weddings."

"Their weddings!" Cora hiccupped and giggled. "Mother, I've only just married myself and you're talking of my children's weddings!"

"And you will make Robert bring you to visit me," Martha continued. "Show him New York so that he can see how it rivals even London! Bring your children to Newport so that they may play on the beaches." She took a step back and cupped her daughter's face between her hands.

"Remember, Cora. Your children will be titled lords and ladies – but they will also be half-American. Do not forget who you are," she said fiercely. "The British are so wrapped up in tradition and history and there will be times when you will have to submit to that, but I raised you to be independent and to have a mind of your own and I expect you will instill the same in your own children – especially in your daughters!"

"Yes, Mother." Cora pressed her forehead to her mother's. "I promise." 

"Good." 

Cora's eyes fluttered closed, one tear blinking free of her lashes as she felt the uncharacteristically gentle caress of her mother's lips across her brow. 

"Now." The older woman cleared her throat and sniffed once before straightening her shoulders. "Let's get you out of this dress and on your way."

 

Note: The music played as Cora walks down the aisle is a nod to the music which traditionally accompanied "Masterpiece Theater", a shortened version of which now accompanies "Masterpiece Classic"


	5. Five

Chapter Five

Robert and Cora laughed and ran as their families showered them with rice and saw them off. Robert assisted his wife into the phaeton which had been festooned with ribbons and flowers by Rosamund and lifted the reins. With a click of his tongue, the horse set off and Cora twisted in her seat to wave goodbye until they reached the curve in the road and she could no longer see the house. 

As the wheels turned over the road, eating up the short distance between the house and the lodge, a nervous tension began to settle between them. The approaching wedding night loomed ahead and Robert watched her fingers knot and twist together in her lap. Like all well-bred young ladies, he expected Cora to be inexperienced in what happened between a husband and wife behind the closed doors of the bedroom and he wondered what, if anything, she had been told to expect by her mother.

Keeping in mind Cora's stated preference that they should have a great deal of privacy during their honeymoon, he had made specific arrangements with the staff. Aware now of the nervous manner in which Cora's fingers were plucking at her skirts, he hoped she would not come to regret her wishes. He had arranged for some of the staff to ride to the lodge ahead of them to prepare it and now upon their arrival, he pulled back on the reins and brought the small carriage to a halt. Setting the brake, he hopped down and held out his arms to swing his bride down from her perch, nodding to a male servant who stepped outside to lead the horse toward the small stable.

Clasping her hand in his, he led her into the lodge where they were greeted by her ladies' maid, his valet, the assistant cook and one of the house maids. 

"Has everything been taken care of, Beryl?" 

The assistant cook, a young woman no more than a handful of years older than Cora, bobbed her knees in a quick curtsy. 

"Aye, my lord." She nodded and scraped her fingers through the red curls which had escaped the cap upon her head.

"Beryl has recently been promoted from kitchen maid to assistant cook," Robert explained to Cora. "She will be taking care of us along with Susan here," he said pointed toward the house maid. 

Cora smiled, murmuring her thanks. Beryl cleared her throat and took a step forward. 

"If you would follow me, my lady?" She led the newlywed couple toward the small kitchen. "His lordship has requested a cold breakfast for tomorrow which I've put in here." She patted the door of a small ice box which took up space under the counter. "A freshly baked loaf of bread is here." She pointed to a linen-draped basket on the counter. "And for lunch, we thought you would enjoy some of what was left over from the wedding luncheon."

Robert saw Cora's brow furrow in confusion and hastened to speak. 

"Beryl and Susan will be back in the early evening tomorrow to prepare dinner as well as one of the footmen."

"Yes, milady," Beryl murmured. "Susan will tidy up and help me in the kitchen and Peter will serve."

"They'll leave each day after breakfast to attend to their duties at the house and return to us in the evenings," Robert murmured. "Does that suit?" 

"Yes, of course. That sounds perfect." He hoped the soft smile on her upturned face meant that she truly was pleased with his arrangements. Clasping her hand in his, he drew her from the kitchen. 

"We'll be on our own much of the time." He lowered his face close to hers. "But I thought tonight you might like to have the assistance of your maid?" 

"Yes. I..." 

He stroked a thumb over the flush that heated her cheeks and gave her a little nudge as he stepped back.

"Take your time," he said kindly. He watched her gesture toward her maid and waited until she had disappeared from sight before summoning his valet.

0o0o0o0

Robert waited in the smaller bedroom while his valet smoothed the collar of his robe and again offered his congratulations before quitting the room. He poured two fingers of brandy into a crystal tumbler and took a hasty sip as he prowled from one side of the room to the other. He gulped down the remaining brandy from his glass when he heard a door down the hall open and close and the light tread of Cora's maid as she made her way down the stairs. He stood near the window and saw the young woman join the others in the wagon outside, watching as it rumbled down the road back toward his family home. 

Not wanting to go to his bride tasting like a distillery, he splashed some water into his glass and rinsed his mouth. Reaching for the door handle, he pressed his forehead against the smooth wood and hesitated. His heart ached as his thoughts turned helplessly to Kate, whom he had not seen since the day they parted company in her husband's park. 

Lord and Lady Fitzsimmons had sent a lovely wedding gift along with her ladyship's regrets. A lingering cold had settled in her husband's chest, preventing them from attending the wedding. As Robert could not have borne to see her amongst the congregants at the church, he was grateful for the proffered excuse and had said not one word in response to his mother's observation that the reply had seemed a trifle curt and lacking in sincere felicitations for the bridal couple's happiness. 

Closing his eyes against the guilt swamping him with regard to both women, he rubbed his palms over his face and made a deliberate effort to push thoughts of Kate from his mind. Cora deserved better. And if they were to have a chance to make a life together, he knew he had to make his wife his priority.

Tightening the sash of his robe, he stepped into the hallway. Drawing in a deep breath, he raised his hand and rapped his knuckles against the door behind which Cora awaited him. 

"Come in."

He heard her soft call and eased the door open. The breath rushed out of him at the sight awaiting him. Her hair – released from the elaborate style it had been fashioned in for the wedding – tumbled in dark clouds over her shoulders and down her back. She rose from her chair and revealed a peignoir set so soft and sheer he could see hints of her curves as the last rays of the setting sun gilded her in its golden light through the window. 

No, he thought vaguely. He was not in love with her. But gazing into her sweetly earnest face, he remembered that he liked her – very much.

And desired her even more. 

He took a step toward her and held out one hand, smiling when he felt her fingers tremble as she laid them in his open palm.

"I'm nervous too," he admitted in a whisper and saw a look of relief cross her face.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you looked today?" He drew her closer until only a hairsbreadth of space remained between them.

"Yes. Several times." The smoky quality of her voice which he so loved was deepened by her nerves and she coughed delicately to clear her throat.

"You're every bit as beautiful now as you were in the church."

She dipped her head, her hair swinging forward to hide the blush that tinted her cheeks.

"Would you care for something to drink?" He gestured toward a silver bucket where a bottle of champagne was nestled into a bed of ice.

"No, thank you," she whispered with a violent shake of her head. 

Reaching out, he caught a lock of her hair with two fingers and tucked it behind her ear. Smoothing a thumb over her cheek, he stared into the clear blue of her eyes, wishing he knew what she was thinking and wanting, badly, to ease the tension arching between them. 

Going with instinct, he laid one hand on her waist, drawing her a little closer and she tilted her head to one side, confusion evident on her lovely face, before raising her free hand to his shoulder. Taking a chance, he let his fingers brush daringly across the upper swell of her buttocks and he felt, more than heard, the gasp that rattled through her when he eased her closer still, erasing all hints of propriety as their bodies brushed together from chest to thigh. She was tense and stiff in his arms as he began to lead her in a tight waltz around the small confines of the room. He felt the resistance slowly seep from her until finally she relaxed, her cheek coming to rest against his shoulder. She began to softly hum a tune in her throaty contralto and he felt a surge of affection well up when he recognized the song as the one the orchestra had been playing when they first danced together.

His steps slowed and stopped when his legs brushed against the frame of the bed. Sinking down onto the edge of the mattress, he drew her between his legs. Fingers still lightly framing her hips, he tipped his head back to look up at her and waited.

Cora's hands settled on his shoulders and in her eyes he saw both caution and curiosity. Her breasts heaved once as she drew in a deep breath; a look of determination crossing her features before she cupped his face between her hands, lowering her mouth to his. 

His lips parted easily at the touch of her mouth, his tongue slipping out to stroke against hers once before retreating. She drew back ever so slightly, her lashes lifting just enough to allow him to see a hint of blue, and she stared at him for the briefest moment before pressing her mouth to his again. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, her lips soft against his and he felt a moan climb in his throat at the tentative lick of her tongue between his lips.

He slid back further on the mattress and she stumbled, almost losing her balance when her knees bumped against the bed. His hands molded to the curves of her buttocks to steady her and he felt her surprised gasp vibrate against his lips.

"Come here," he muttered into the space between their mouths, and she obeyed, hiking up her night clothes so that she could climb onto the bed. When she would have settled at his side, he tightened his grip, guiding her until she rested on his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. 

Giving into the impulse that had struck him from practically the first moment of their meeting all those months ago, he ghosted his lips over the golden sprinkle of freckles dusting her nose and cheeks.

"I've always wanted to," he admitted on a whisper. Her lips trembled into a smile in response to his confession and she leaned forward to kiss him again. The tips of her breasts, unconfined beneath the gauzy fabric of her nightclothes, brushed against his chest and he reached out to tangle one hand into the heavy mass of her hair. Banding his other arm around her hips, he rolled her onto the mattress beneath him. They kissed – again and again – and Cora shifted restlessly beneath him, her legs instinctively parting so that he settled naturally into the cradle of her hips. 

Robert raised his head and saw that her cheeks were flushed with pleasure; her lips pink and swollen from his kisses. The thick fringe of her lashes parted as she opened her eyes. Though she never said it, he knew she was in love with him. He felt the familiar lash of guilt that he could not say the same, though his affection for her grew every day. Looking into the clear blue of her gaze, he saw his future and realized that it might not be as bleak as he once had feared. 

0o0o0o0

 

"I've never asked," he said as he worked to hitch the horse to the phaeton the next morning. "Do you ride?" 

"Not really." Holding his jacket in her arms, she watched him closely, enjoying the play of his muscles beneath the white linen shirt as he moved about. She knew that a man of his stature rarely, if ever, did something as mundane as to hitch a horse to a wagon, but she suspected that he secretly enjoyed showing off as much as she quietly took pleasure in watching. 

"But you have ridden?" He looked over his shoulder then returned his attention to attaching the reins to the horse's bridle.

"Once or twice. I can't say that it left an impression on me one way or the other." She shrugged and carefully draped his coat over the wooden fence against which she had been leaning before moving closer. She stroked a gentle hand over the white crescent shaped mark on the horse's forehead. A little sound of surprise escaped her when the horse nudged its muzzle against her midsection and she took a startled step back. 

"Khonsu," Robert gently grabbed the horse by the bridle. "Show your manners," he reprimanded.

Cora stepped forward once more and again the horse lowered its head, snorting softly as it nosed about her middle though she did not startle this time.

"What did I tell you?" Robert tugged again on the bridle and the horse idly turned its head toward him, letting out another snort, making Cora laugh.

"He's spoiled and hoping you have an apple or a carrot for him." Robert rolled his eyes and continued with his work. 

"I'll bring you something to eat tomorrow," she whispered conspiratorially as she wrapped both hands around the bridle and held the horse's head still while gazing into its dark eyes. "What does his name mean?" she asked, raising her voice. 

"Khonsu?" He pulled the phaeton closer to the horse and began attaching the carriage shafts to the harness. "Khonsu was the Egyptian god of the moon. The name means 'traveler'. It seemed appropriate," he grunted as he tightened the straps. 

"Oh, very appropriate," she crooned as she again stroked her fingers over the crescent-shaped mark standing out against the horse's dark brown coat.

"Perhaps you'd like to learn." Finished with his labors, he wiped his hands with a clean handkerchief before shrugging into his coat and reaching for her. 

"Learn?" She took her husband's hand as he led her toward the phaeton and helped her into the seat.

"To ride." He climbed into the carriage and gave her an expectant look as he settled at her side. 

"Would you teach me?" she asked with a flirtatious smile.

"If you'd like," he said with an answering grin. Lifting the reins, he clucked at the horse and they set off.   
Cora had asked that he continue to show her about the estate and they spent the morning with Robert taking her to some of his favorite places. 

They crested a hill and in the distance the house appeared, surrounded by the rolling hills and fields of the tenant farmers. Robert drew back on the reins, halting the carriage.

"Beautiful," Cora sighed, twisting slightly in her seat for a better view.

"Do you really think so?"

"Oh, yes." She heard what she thought was faint surprise in his voice. "The house reminds me of a wedding cake, don't you think? With all its tiers and ornamentations – standing out in the middle of the beautiful greens of the surrounding countryside." She sighed softly. "I think it lovely. Truly."

"Cora." 

He shifted the reins into one hand and she turned to face him when he called her name. 

"It means a great deal to me that you want to get to know Downton," he said in a low voice and she trembled when he cupped her chin in his free hand and stared deeply into her eyes. "But I hope you will not regret that we have spent our honeymoon so close to home."

She lifted one hand and curled her fingers around his wrist. 

"Robert, someday you and I will be caretakers of all of this." She swept her other hand out to her side. "I was not born here and I know that I could never feel about it the way you do... but I want to come to know Downton and to love it as my home and I cannot think of a better guide than you."

Lowering her hands to her lap, she ran a thumb over the gleaming gold of her wedding band. "I've poured my fortune into sustaining this estate and when I took my vows yesterday, I knew that I was wedded to Downton as much as I am bound to you."

She took a deep breath.

"God willing, we will raise a family here, grow old together and someday be buried here." She tipped her head back and peered at him from beneath the wide brim of her hat. "But for now, we are just at the beginning of that journey. Do you not think I know that Downton is your life's work? Why should it not be important to me?"

Inexplicably moved by the sincerity of her words and the fierceness in her expression, he felt a primal urge to pull her from the carriage and take her amongst the tall grass and wildflowers surrounding them; to mark her as his. He wrestled back that base part of himself and instead, allowing his growing affection for her to surge forward, he pressed his mouth to hers in a grateful kiss. 

0o0o0o0

A drawstring satchel and soft blanket draped over one arm, Cora hitched up her skirt with her free hand and carefully followed her husband down the grassy slope leading to the banks of the stream which cut a winding path across the land behind the lodge. The water burbled over the rocks strewn along its bed, its surface glittering like thousands of diamonds beneath the sun's rays. 

She released a soft sigh of contentment and shook out the blanket as Robert set down his twin burdens of a heavily-ladened picnic basket and fishing rod and tackle. Shaking out her skirts, she settled on the blanket and laughed when he collapsed at her side and let out a theatrical groan as if exhausted. 

"My poor darling," she crooned. "You must be worn out. Perhaps a nap is in order?"

"Not quite yet," he grinned. "But I think perhaps later I shall take you up on your fine suggestion." 

Reaching for his fishing rod and tackle, he offered to teach her to fish. She politely declined with a wrinkled nose and emphatic shake of her head as he peered into shadowy interior of the bait box.

"What shall you do if you catch any?" she asked as he baited the hook.

"If?" He cast an outraged look toward her over one shoulder as he settled on the grass by the stream, methodically rolling up his sleeves in deference to the warmth of the sun. "Madam, do you mean to say that you doubt my ability? I will have you know that I am expertly skilled in the gentlemanly sports of shooting and fishing." 

She pressed one hand against her bodice and fluttered her lashes. "I do apologize, my lord. What shall you do when you catch a fish?"

"What do you mean?" he asked in puzzlement.

"You brought no pail or pan," she pointed out. "Where shall you keep them until we return to the house?"

"Ah." Understanding her question now, he turned his attention back to his task, flicking the baited line into the stream with a little plop. "I thought simply to catch and release today."

"Catch and release?" Her nose wrinkled again. "Do you mean you plan to put a hole in a fish's lip simply for purposes of entertainment?" 

He grinned at the puzzled expression on his wife's face. 

"You've taken so well to life on a country estate, I sometimes forget that I have married a city girl." 

She met his grin with an arched brow. 

"Poor little fish," she murmured sympathetically. 

"Considering the alternative, I think the fish will consider itself quite lucky to get away with so small an injury." 

"Indeed."

They passed the day with leisurely activities. While her husband was happily occupied with his rod and reel, Cora drew out pencil and pad and began to sketch the sloping hills rising in the distance. When she lost interest in that pursuit, she took off her hat and pulled out the pins holding her hair atop her head. Gathering the waving mane of hair in her hands, she drew it over her shoulder and tied off the loose tail with a bit of lace ribbon. She unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse and with a furtive glance around, reached beneath the flower sprigged cotton of her blue skirt and unfastened her stockings, rolling the silk down her legs. She bit her lip, aware of her husband's heated gaze in her peripheral view. Though the staff had not returned yet for the day, she was aware that anyone on the road leading past the lodge could see them. Knowing that Robert was still staring at her, she shot him a warning look and stood, dropping her skirts and hiding her now bare legs from his view. 

Wandering toward the stream, she enjoyed the soft warmth of the sun-heated grass beneath her bare feet. Lifting her skirt to her ankle, she dipped her toes into the stream, gasping at the unexpected coolness of the gurgling water in contrast to the warmth of the day. Moving back onto the grassy bank, she strolled through the shade of a small copse of trees, fingers skimming through the trailing branches of a willow closest to the stream's banks. Plucking a dandelion from the ground, she blew gently across the head, delighting in watching the fluffy seeds float away on the breeze. 

Turning her head, she found her husband watching her intently and she moved toward him. 

"You're staring." 

He reached out with one hand and tangled his fingers into the folds of her skirt for a moment before wrapping his hand around the soft skin of her bare ankle. 

"What is it?" She fidgeted beneath the intensity of his gaze.

"You're not like any girl I know," he admitted quietly. 

"In what way?" She ran the fingers of one hand through his wavy hair. 

"Most women would have wanted a wedding trip to some beautiful, foreign city. Would have expected to visit museums to see the great works of Davinci or Raphael. To see and be seen at the finest restaurants and opera houses or to shop in the jewelry stores lining the great boulevards." His thumb stroked a gentle path over the finely boned instep of her foot. "But you seem..."

She twined a lock of his hair around her forefinger and waited patiently for him to finish his thought.

"You seem content to be here doing nothing." He tipped his head back and squinted up at her through the glare of the sun high overhead.

"Robert." Her skirts billowed about her as she sank down into the grass at his side. "Are you..." She shook her head, eyes firmly locked on the fingers she had knotted together in her lap. "That is... are you disappointed? I did not think to ask... but now you have brought it up on several occasions and I... I mean it is your honeymoon too and, perhaps you wanted to go to Rome or Greece or anywhere other than the place you see every day?"

Her voice rose with the sudden horror that she had somehow failed in this early test of their marriage. 

"Of course not." Tucking two fingers under her jaw, he forced her to look up. "I am not disappointed at all."

"But..." Worry pleated the skin between her brows and she agitatedly gnawed on her lower lip. 

"Oh, my dear. No. I am not disappointed." He laid a hand over hers, stilling the nervous way in which she fiddled with the fabric of her skirt. "I just mean to say that I cannot make you out." 

Her torso collapsing from its ramrod straight position as she let out a long breath and she leaned over their joined hands. 

"We did not know each other well before we married." She watched him trace a finger over the gleaming gold of her wedding band. "I wanted this time together to change that." She drew in a deep breath and peered up at him through the thick sweep of her lashes. "I did not want the distraction of crowded cities with gleaming opera houses and famous museums and fashionable restaurants."

"That's not to say that I do not adore all of those things," she continued. "Because I do and I am sure I shall be asking you to take me to London or abroad, possibly more often than you would care to go yourself." She lifted her shoulders in a philosophical shrug. "Perhaps you think me self-sacrificing and that I asked to spend this time on the estate because I wanted to please you? Or perhaps you think that my intent was to manipulate your feelings by making a pretense of wanting to remain at Downton?"

His brows lifted in surprise for though he worried that she had sacrificed her own desires in an effort to please him, he had never thought her intent was manipulative and he shook his head in quick denial of her concerns.

"Then I will tell you a very great secret." She blew out a relieved breath and leaning close, lowered her voice to an intimate whisper. "I am a very selfish and spoiled girl," she admitted. "My father indulged me in many ways and my mother showered me with all the beautiful things she thought required by society to show off our family's rising fortunes and station. If I had wanted to go abroad, I can assure you that you would be longing for Downton as I dragged you from one place to another."

He barked out a laugh, but his gaze was tender as he stroked an errant hair behind her ear. 

"I refuse to believe that and would not have you speak so ill of my wife," he admonished, raising her hand in his to press a kiss against her knuckles. "But you have convinced me of your genuine enjoyment of our honeymoon plans and I shall say no more on the matter."

"Good." She bobbed her head decisively and then fixed her gaze upon him. "Now, may I ask you something important? You must promise to answer truthfully." She gazed deeply into his eyes, a determined look on her face and he swallowed nervously before nodding.

"Are you hungry?" She cast a glance over her shoulder toward the waiting picnic basket and then back at him, laughter in her eyes. "Because I am famished." 

Surprised, he lunged toward her, tickling fingers reaching for her waist in retaliation and she scrambled backward. Gaining her feet, she picked up her skirts and raced back toward the blanket, letting out an unladylike shriek when he caught her around the waist and gently tackled her to the ground. 

"Robert." 

She sighed happily, twining her fingers into his hair and drew his mouth to hers in a kiss filled with promise. 

Hours later, they strolled back to the house and while she made her way to their bedroom, he stopped in the kitchen to drop off the mostly empty picnic basket. Both Beryl and the maid bobbed their knees in greeting and the cook gestured toward an envelope waiting on the table.

"From Lady Grantham, my lord."

"Thank you." Picking up a knife, he slit the envelope open, eyes skimming over his mother's distinctive handwriting. Brows raised, he glanced up at the cook who was watching him nervously.

"You're to go back to the house tonight?"

"Yes, my lord. Her ladyship says how we're to be back so that we can help get everything ready for the dinner party tomorrow evening." She twisted her hands nervously in her apron. "I'm sorry m' lord. I won't be here to make breakfast for you and Lady Cora..." She glanced around. "I've got a loaf of bread in the oven now and there's fresh butter and preserves, and there'll be plenty of leftovers from dinner tonight for tomorrow's lunch, but there won't be anything hot for you..." Her voice trailed off apologetically.

"Do not concern yourself, Beryl." He waved off her worries with a flick of his wrist. "Her ladyship and I will make do." 

"And Lady Grantham said you and Lady Cora are expected at the house for the dinner, of course, so it's really just breakfast tomorrow," the cook explained, pushing an errant lock of red hair away from her face with the back of her hand. 

Robert hummed, a non-committal sound coming from his throat before he thanked her again and left the room. Stopping at a small desk tucked into an alcove in the parlor, he drew forth paper and pen and scribbled out a quick message. Tucking the note into an envelope, he rose and carried it with him up the stairs to the second floor. Slipping into the bedroom, he carefully eased the door shut behind him as he studied the woman sleeping on the bed. 

In deference to the warmth of the afternoon, she had stripped to her chemise and pantalets. Weak sunlight, muted by the sheer curtains covering the windows illuminated her and he carefully lowered himself onto the bed beside her. Taking advantage of the moment when she was unaware of his regard, he studied this young woman who had become his wife.

The sun had teased out more of the freckles that had enchanted him from the start – scattering gold and copper stardust over her cheeks and nose – and her lips were stained red from the strawberries she had nibbled on all afternoon.

Long, shapely calves and narrow feet were exposed below the frilly hem of her pantalets and the pale, rounded curves of her breasts swelled above the edges of her chemise with each quiet inhalation of breath. He had enjoyed a low thrum of arousal for most of their day together and now, unwilling to resist any longer, he leaned down to rub his mouth against hers.

The thick crescent of her dark lashes lifted, eyelids fluttering as she came awake.

"You're back," she sighed, peering up at him with a sleepy blue gaze.

He toed off his shoes and stretched out over her, his weight pushing her deeper into the rumpled bedcovers. 

"Did you have a good nap?" He pecked a light kiss against her smiling lips before trailing his mouth along the curve of her jaw. She nodded, turning her head this way and that as she blindly chased his wandering mouth with her own. 

Levering up on one elbow, his fingers toyed with the ribbons and hooks securing her chemise. Brushing the fabric aside, he sighed with the satisfaction of seeing all that pale skin revealed in the dappled sunlight.

"Robert," she protested, trying to pull her garment closed. "It's still daylight." 

"I know," he murmured, pushing aside the weak resistance of her hands. "Finally, I can see you properly." 

The flush heating her cheeks extended down to her chest, her breasts heaving in equal parts agitation and arousal.

"The staff," she objected half-heartedly as his hand molded itself around the rounded curve of her breast.

"What of them?" he murmured, idly sweeping a thumb over her pale curves.

"They might hear," she whispered. The faint protest in her voice was at odds with the restless arch of her hips towards his.

"Then we'd best be quiet," he suggested. "Can you do that?" he asked before lowering his mouth to her pink-tipped flesh. His words were met by a muffled squeak followed by a breathy sigh of acquiescence and his smile against her soft skin was triumphant.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I think Robert and Cora would have spent their honeymoon chilling at home? Probably not. But they're fictional and this is fanfic and I can exercise some artistic license, I guess. And I like the idea of them spending quiet time getting to know one another and Cora getting to know her new home.
> 
> There's more to this chapter that remains, at present, unfinished. But I realized today, after looking at it for the first time in months, that I had ten pages of text already so I decided to split the completed section off and post that today. A few more scenes remaining of their honeymoon before we move forward with the rest of the story of which I have various bits of dialogue written, partial scenes, outlines and notes but no more than that. Now that the weather is turning toward the cool and I'm less inclined to be out-of-doors, hopefully I will have the time and inclination to move ahead and finish. But for now, a bit of completed work.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Cora awoke to a room awash in the pearlescent gray light brought on by an English summer rain. She let out a quiet groan and stretched pleasantly sore limbs against the linen sheets. Looking up she found her husband blinking awake, a sleepy, sated smile curving his lips.

"Good morning," he rasped before stretching one arm toward her. She shifted a few inches until she could rest her cheek against his shoulder.

"It's raining," she said unnecessarily as the sound of water pattering against the windows filled the room. 

Robert hummed in response and ran the palm of his hand over the crown of her head, his fingers carefully winnowing through her hair, working out the snarls brought on by sleep and his own hands which had tangled into the tumbling curls over and over throughout the night.

"It looks like we'll have to postpone my riding lesson." Cora rubbed her cheek against the warm skin of his shoulder. "What should we do with our day instead?"

"This," he murmured. "Just this."

"This?" She levered up onto one elbow. "Your suggestion is that we should spend the day abed?"

"It's a very comfortable bed, is it not?" He snuggled deeper into the pillows and made exaggerated noises of contentment in the back of his throat, drawing a rolling-eyed smile from his wife.

"It is," she agreed. Stacking her hands atop his chest, she rested her chin on them and peered up at him through the wild tangle of her hair. "But whatever will the staff think of us?" she asked, batting her lashes at him innocently.

"That, my dear, is the beauty of the timing."

She shivered when he stroked the tips of his fingers along the shallow groove of her spine, one large hand come to rest on the rounded curve of her derriere. "The staff is not here, remember? They are at the house preparing for Mama's dinner party this evening." 

Cora buried her face against his chest. "Are you sure we shouldn't attend?" she asked. "I do not want your mother to dislike me more than she already does."

"She does not dislike you."

Cora's 'ha!" was muffled against his warm skin. 

"'Disapproves'," she amended. "She disapproves of our marriage and I am sure she will happily accuse me of being a bad influence on you," she said tartly. "Maybe we should –"

"Cora." 

She lifted her head when her husband tugged on her hair.

"We must begin as we intend to go on. If we had taken a wedding trip abroad, she would not be able to summon us home to attend a last minute dinner party."

"But..."

"My mother exists in a world where she believes everyone is subordinate to her and put on this earth to jump when she speaks. Although there will be times when we must give way to her, this is not one of those occasions. You must not allow her to browbeat you on every little thing."

She flopped down onto the mattress, rolling onto her back and propped her head against his outstretched arm.

"Perhaps I should send her a note explaining..." she began thoughtfully.

"Really?"

Her eyes narrowed at the teasing note of sarcasm in his voice. 

"And just what would you say in this note of yours?"

"My very dear Lady Grantham,” A wicked glint in her eye, Cora raised her hand in the air over their heads. Fingers pressed together as if holding an imaginary pen, she feigned writing, pausing when he wrapped his hand around hers and 'crossed out' her salutation to replace it with one of his own. 

"Dearest Mama,” he amended, eliciting an unladylike snort of laughter from his wife. 

"I do not think so." She craned her head back to meet his laughing gaze before resuming her imaginary letter. 

"My lady. It is with regret that I must decline your generous invitation to attend upon you at dinner this evening. Your son has elected to assert his husbandly authority over me and has decreed that I should not leave the marital bed this day..."

She heard him suck in a sharp breath and her head bounced against the mattress when he abruptly pulled his arm from beneath her so he could roll onto his side. A tiny moan escaped her as he pushed the covers toward the foot of the bed and nudged his knee between hers. 

"Perhaps you might considering finishing the letter a little later," he suggested, and as he busily set about sucking a mark onto her shoulder, she flung her hands into the air as if tossing aside pen and paper, more than happy to submit to her wifely duties.

0o0o0o0

Long moments later, Robert slid down to pillow his head against the softness of his wife's midriff and felt her shiver as cool, rain-scented air wafted over their damp skin. He gave brief thought to reaching for the covers, but deemed it an effort too great for his still quaking limbs and instead tightened his hold on her. He had just drifted into that lovely place somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when a low rumbling beneath his ear startled him awake.

Raising his head, he sent her a wide-eyed look filled with mischief. 

"Pardon me, my dear. But did you say something?" 

A rosy blush heated her cheeks when her stomach loudly gurgled again and she twisted her torso, trying to squirm away but he clamped wide-palmed hands over her hips and held her in place. Turning his head, he pressed an ear against her.

"Robert!" She tangled her fingers into his hair and tried to tug his head away, but he resisted, nodding and murmuring nonsensical words into the soft skin of her belly which trembled now with laughter. 

He propped his chin on her stomach and shot her an exaggeratedly innocent look. "Perhaps Madam would like to break her fast?"

"Perhaps she would." 

Pushing her hands against his shoulders, Cora nimbly evaded her husband's groping hands and climbed from the bed. Bouncing to her feet, she snatched up her nightgown and tugged it over her head.

Though he opened his mouth to object on principal to her leaving the bed, any protest or thought of giving voice to an objection died a rapid death, for the garment she donned was undoubtedly crafted by a Parisian modiste with intent to inflame a young husband's ardor. The lace bodice clung to her torso and the finely spun silk of the skirt offered tantalizing hints of the shadows and valleys of her curves while maintaining an illusion of respectability. 

Her countenance was animated as she moved about the room, splashing cold water on her face and chattering away, and he did not think her aware of the provocative picture she made. She raised her arms high to pile the heavy mass of her hair atop her head and began to jam pins into the tangled curls, causing her breasts to swell enticingly over the top of the lace bodice. He entertained a brief, but intense fantasy of spearing his hands into her hair, scattering pins everywhere and shredding the delicate lace to shreds with his fingers. 

The sound of his wife's voice calling his name jolted him to the present and he scrambled from the bed, splashing water on his own face before snatching up a robe. He hastily followed her down the stairs and into the kitchen where he found her slicing a freshly baked loaf of bread. Sidling up behind her, he slid his arms around her waist and buried his mouth against her neck, lips unerringly finding the bruise he had worked into her skin earlier that morning. 

She moaned softly, the knife clattering from her hand onto the top of the table and she instinctively craned her neck to one side to allow his roving mouth greater access to her skin for one long, lovely moment, before she regained her senses and pushed him gently away.

"Breakfast," she reminded him. Picking up the knife, she pointed toward a chair. "You sit over there and keep your hands to yourself." 

The authoritativeness of her words was at odds with the breathless quality of her voice, but he acquiesced and took his place, quietly watching as she finished slicing bread and pulled a platter of cold ham from the ice box.

"Perhaps now would be a good time for you to put those much-vaunted scrambled eggs skills you once boasted of to the test," he remarked while idly chewing on the discarded heel of the loaf of bread. 

Eyes narrowing at the challenge behind his words, she spun back toward the ice box to pull eggs and butter from its chilled depths before digging through the cabinets in search of bowls and a pan. She ordered him to find plates and cutlery. Once he was on his feet, he found himself inexorably pulled back into her orbit. Hands wrapped around her waist again, he hooked his chin on her shoulder and whispered helpful suggestions as she puzzled out the stove and then whisked eggs in a bowl. 

They settled at the table to ravenously devour their breakfast. 

"You have only yourself and your wandering hands to blame," she told him of the slightly overcooked eggs. 

"Everything is delicious," he promised, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth. Using his knife, he chose a ripe peach from a bowl on the table and sliced it in half. Coring out the pit, he held one half out to her. She took a bite and then sucked in a breath when he used his thumb to wipe an errant trail of juice from her chin before leaning forward to steal a sticky kiss from her. 

"Are you done?" Suddenly impatient, he shoved his chair back and rose abruptly to tower over her. When she nodded wordlessly, he reached for her hand. Drawing her to her feet he towed her in his wake back towards the bedroom.  
0o0o0o0 

A long, low peal of thunder rumbling over the hills pulled him from sleep. He blinked awake and found Cora curled into a ball at his side, gooseflesh rising on her skin as she slept. He drew the sheet from the tangled knot of covers at the foot of the bed and tucked it around her. 

Thirsty, he slid from the bed, wincing and biting back a loud oath at a sudden sharp pain in his foot. Looking down he found the cause of his pain to be one of the many hairpins scattered over the carpet near the bed. Bending down, he lifted the soft cloud of Cora's nightgown from the floor and felt a surge of dark satisfaction as he fingered the torn lace of the bodice and the sweet memory of the fulfillment of his earlier fantasy. 

He draped the damaged fabric over a nearby chair and crossed the room to pour a glass of water from the pitcher waiting on a table near the window. Pushing aside the curtain, he sipped and gazed through the rivulets of water streaming over the window to the damp, rolling fields that filled his view. 

A soft sound from within the room drew his attention and he turned to find his wife awakening and struggling up onto one elbow. Pushing the tangled mass of her hair from her face with one hand, she shifted to sit up against the pillows. 

Refilling the glass, he returned to the bed and offered it to her. Clutching the sheet modestly against her breasts with one hand, she took the glass from him with the other, greedily draining its contents.

"I had thought we might share," he said with a wry look at the now empty glass before shrugging and joining her under the covers. 

"It's still raining," she commented, grateful for the wet weather which provided them the justification to spend the day lazing about. They curled onto their sides facing one another and passed the time quietly talking. They discussed their shared love of art. He told her that she had only seen a fraction of the sculptures and paintings in the Crawley family collection and she told him that since moving to New York, her mother had become a patron of the young Metropolitan Museum of Art whose reputation in the international art community was rapidly growing. 

They discussed their favorite authors and novels and music. He described to her the great concert halls of Rome and Paris and she told him of the first time she attended an opera while on a trip to Philadelphia. 

They made love and dozed in one another's arms. 

He set up a chessboard between them on the rumpled covers of the bed and went over the fundamentals of the game with her.

He suggested they play cards. She proposed a hand of poker with a sly look on her face and he grinned in response. Climbing from the bed, he left the room, reappearing moments later with a deck of cards and a wooden box. 

"What are the stakes?" He settled back onto the bed and opened the box to reveal a stack of wooden poker chips. 

"I don't know. I have no money on me at the moment," she said, gesturing toward the lacy robe she wore as they sat facing one another amidst the rumpled bedclothes.

"Surely your earbobs are worth a pretty penny." He reached behind him toward the bedside table and swept the sparkling jewels in question into his hand.

"You would have me risk the earrings my dear papa gave me upon my sixteenth birthday?" She laid a hand over her heart and gasped with mock outrage. 

"Very well. We shall play for sport only," he said with a long suffering sigh, dealing the cards and distributing the chips between them.

He watched her as they played, enjoying the delightful expressions that crossed her lovely face with each hand dealt. She won one hand relatively early on, letting out a sparkling laugh, and as she leaned forward to scoop up her winnings from the pile between them, he shifted toward her, laying one hand on her thigh.

"It is customary to reward the dealer when one has a winning hand," he mentioned with an idle stroke of his thumb over the intricate lace covering her. 

"Is that so?" She hummed thoughtfully and neatly stacked her chips. "And what would you have as your reward, good sir?" she asked, peering up at him through the fringe of her lashes. 

A dozen thoughts sprung to mind, each one more lurid than the last, but he reluctantly reined himself in, glancing at the pile of chips before her. 

"Not a very large pot," he commented. "A kiss will have to do."

"And have you kissed many a dealer?" she wondered with an arched brow.

"Cora." He growled deep in his throat and she acquiesced with a laugh and a lingering kiss that threatened to end the game there and then before she pulled away, placing a restraining hand against his chest. 

"Deal the cards, Robert," she murmured.

He soundly won the next half dozen games and she pouted prettily when he raked his winnings across the disheveled sheets. 

"You have bested me, my lord," she said, waving a hand toward the pitiful pile of chips remaining before her. 

"One last hand," he suggested, shoving all his chips forward. "Winner takes all."

Moments later, she fell back onto the bed, waving her winning hand above her head and giggling in mad jubilation. 

"You cheated!" he exclaimed, wrestling the cards away from her.

"You dealt the cards. How did I cheat?" She giggled when he scowled at the cards in his hand as if he could change the outcome.

"You distracted me with your feminine wiles," he growled, tossing the cards aside and stretching himself out full length over her supine form nosing the edge of her robe away from her shoulder and scraping his teeth over her skin.

"Nobody likes a poor loser," she whispered as she wrapped arms and legs around him in a four-limbed embrace. 

Raising his head, he furrowed his brows together as if angry and curled his fingers into the delicate lace.

"Do not even think about it," she warned, her hands flying to cover his. "At this rate I will not have anything to wear to bed."

"You will need to come up with a better argument than that, my dear, for I fail to see the problem." He narrowed his eyes and tightened his hold on the lace between his fingers as if testing its strength.

"It cost a great deal of money," she argued.

"I will buy you a dozen more," he countered.

Pursing her lips, she simply shook her head back and forth and he relented, his fingers slipping away instead to trace the rising swell of her breasts over the bodice.

"Then, Cora," he whispered into the fragrant skin of her throat. "I would suggest that you take it off quickly before I change my mind."

0o0o0

 

The next day dawned bright and clear and they awoke to the wonderful smells of breakfast wafting up from the kitchen, signaling the return of their small staff.

Putting off her riding lesson for yet another day, they instead hitched the horse to the buggy and set off on a meandering ride over the roads that wound through the estate. 

"Where does that stream go?" Cora pointed to a sparkling current of water that gurgled alongside the road.

"It flows into the river and then eventually to the North Sea." 

Drawing the horse to a stop, she loosened the ribbons of her hat and let it hang behind her shoulders.

"I should have worn my hair up," she murmured as she lifted the heavy weight of her hair from the back of her neck to cool off. Tendrils near her temples curled damply from the heat of the sun. 

Pulling a small knife from a sheath in his pocket, Robert lifted the reins and sliced off a trailing bit of leather before offering it to her. 

She smiled and raised her hands to her hair, quickly fashioning it into a thick braid. Pulling it over one shoulder, she tied it off with the bit of rawhide and tossed the heavy tail over her back. Taking up the reins again, she clucked at the horse and they continued on. Along the way, tenants came to the roadside to wave and greet them. Robert – who had romped and played in their fields as a boy – was well-liked. And everyone, it seemed, wanted a glimpse of the woman who would one day be the future Countess of Grantham.

He lifted a hand in greeting to one man who made his way past a break in the rock wall lining the road and then laid his fingertips on her arm, signaling her to stop. She gave the reins a gentle tug and when the horse ambled to a halt, Robert set the brake. Climbing from the carriage, he helped her down.

"My dear, I would like you to meet Michael Davis. Michael is an old friend whose family has been farming this land for many generations." He drew her forward by one hand and then continued. "Michael, may I present my wife, Lady Cora Crawley formerly of New York City..." He turned his head to grin into her face. "By way of Cincinnati."

The farmer watched the exchange with shrewd eyes and found himself glad to see the lighthearted expression on his friend's face.

"My lady." Michael doffed his cap and dipped his head respectfully before turning to Robert and offering a sweeping bow. "My lord." 

Robert made a rude noise in his throat at the ill-disguised dig behind the exaggerated display of deference shown by his old friend.

"Michael and I were schoolmates as boys – "

"Until his Lordship here was shipped off to some boarding school and came back with all kinds of fancy manners." The farmer interrupted with the familiarity of a lifelong friend and Robert wrinkled his nose when Cora let out a tinkling laugh to see her husband's face heated by a slight blush. 

A young woman – no more than a couple year's Cora's senior, approached with a little girl perched on her hip. 

"My wife, Grace," Michael said by way of introduction. Grace set the child down and dipped into an awkward curtsey and Cora, thinking the other woman had stumbled, shot out a hand to steady her. Feeling multiple pairs of eyes looking at her oddly, she flushed and snatched her hand back.

"I think perhaps my American wife has not yet become accustomed to her new title nor all the protocol that goes along with it," Robert said smoothly.

Cora, wishing to divert attention from herself, glanced toward the little girl clutching Michael's knee. 

"And who is this?"

"This is our daughter, Maggie."

Cora crouched down until she was at eye level with the child. "My best friend growing up was named Margaret, but I always called her Maggie," she told the little girl. "She lives far away from me now so I am very glad to meet another Maggie here in my new home."

Maggie took one step closer and touched a finger to the earring dangling from Cora's ear, eyes widening as the sunlight caught the gemstone and set it ablaze. 

"You're very pretty," she whispered conspiratorially, touching a dark curl of hair near Cora's temple. 

"Why thank you." Cora impulsively drew the little girl into a quick hug. "I think you're very pretty too." 

"Oh, my lady. She'll get your beautiful gown dirty. She was picking flowers, you see, and I'm afraid she's rather grubby..." Grace took a step forward as if to intervene. 

"You can have 'em if you want." The little girl thrust a small bouquet of daisies and other wildflowers toward Cora.

"For me?" Cora took the bouquet, now growing somewhat limp from the heat of the little girl's tight grasp, and buried her nose in the blooms. She snapped one blossom from its stem and tucked into her dark curls, then broke off another and tucked the short stem behind the little girl's ear. 

"Thank you. They are the most beautiful flowers I have seen since I have come to live in England." Touching a finger to the little girl's nose, she rose to her full height. Taking the child's hand in hers, she led her back to her mother, engaging the other woman by asking the names of some of the flowers she did not recognize in the bouquet.

Michael could not help but notice the way his friend's gaze seemed to follow every move his wife made. He clapped a hand on the other man's shoulder and let out a chuckle.

"And what, precisely, do you find so amusing?" Robert dragged his gaze away from where his wife was being pulled down the road so that Maggie could show her something in a nearby field.

"I find you amusing."

"In what way?"

"T'be honest, I was surprised when I heard you had hared off to London. And now here you are with a new wife. And an American at that!" He let out another chuckle. "You must have sent half yer ancestors to rollin' in their graves."

The two men shared a laugh. 

"She's a beauty though and very natural. Not some stuck up lady who wouldn't give the likes of us the time o'day." He folded his arms over his chest and watched as his friend's wife continued down the country lane, chatting easily with Grace and their little girl. "Must be because she's American, eh? She don't know any better."

"Mmm," Robert responded distractedly. 

"Never thought I'd see you tumble head over heels so quickly. Must've been love at first sight." Michael bumped his shoulder into his friend's in a good-natured ribbing. 

"I married her for her money," Robert muttered distractedly, his gaze fixed on his wife. Realizing what he had blurted out, his head whipped around to meet the other man's eyes. 

"Please do not repeat that," he pleaded. "She knows my reasons for proposing, but it would only hurt her to hear that I've spoken them aloud to another."

"Robert..." Michael laid a hand on his friend's arm. "I don't believe you. It's clear as day that you're besotted with that girl."

"No." Robert glanced toward his wife and then back at his friend, meeting the other man's gaze with his own. "I like her very much – even more now than I had hoped when I proposed. I think we're a good match. I believe we will get on well together but, no... it's not love. Not on my part."

He thought of the way he felt about Kate – the thrill, the heart-wrenching ups and downs – the all-consuming excitement... that was love as he knew it. Physically he was drawn to Cora – he wanted her more and more with every passing day and he found that he enjoyed her company out of bed as much as he did within it. But while what he felt for her was desire and a steady tender, warmth – it was not the pulse-pounding passionate love that he had known with Kate. 

Michael pursed his lips, though he said nothing in response. But watching Robert run a tender hand along his wife's spine to draw her close to his side when the women returned from their stroll, the farmer thought his friend blind to his own feelings.

Time would tell.

0o0o0o0

They returned to the lodge several hours later. Robert had been rather quiet on the ride back and Cora thought his mood somewhat melancholy though he had a ready smile for her whenever she turned her face toward his.

He helped her down from the carriage seat and she impulsively rose onto her toes to press her mouth to his. He let out a soft groan, curling one hand around the back of her neck as he instinctively deepened the kiss.

She broke free, lowering herself to her heels. "I think I'll take a nap." She peeked up at him through the thick fringe of her lashes. "If you're tired, you're welcome to join me." She tangled her fingers with his and led him toward the door.

As they entered the coolness of the lodge, they found the cook waiting for them, a queer expression on her face.

"What is it, Beryl?" Robert asked as he set his hat onto the table near the door.

"A letter for you, m'lord." The cook bobbed her knees in a quick curtsy. "From her ladyship."

Assuming the letter was a note from Robert's mother chastising them again for not attending the previous night's dinner party, Cora watched her husband's face as he broke the seal on the letter. Expecting to see a look of irritation, she was surprised instead when the color drained from his cheeks and a stricken expression crossed his face.

"What is it, Robert?" She stepped forward and laid a hand on his forearm. "What's wrong?"

"We have to go home." He dragged dazed eyes from the note in his hand. "I'm sorry, Cora, but we must go home immediately."

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have bits and pieces of upcoming chapters written - on my computer, on my phone... a combination of notes and ideas and actual sections of story which eventually will be cobbled together in some semblance of a complete story. I know where I'm going and even know the path I'll be taking. It's a matter of time and discipline to actually sit down and write it all out. I'm posting this smaller chapter because it's a good place to break before moving into the middle section of the story and so you know I have not abandoned it.


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